Writes before thinks, changes with every new dress, makes loud sounds with her high heels therefore she is - Viktoriya Gaponski
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To The Seagull Who Stole My Fig

When you wave your hands in delirious motions
Be cautious
There’s a seagull behind you, alert
Waiting quietly
Not seen nor heard
With a practiced routine that’s clever and quick
He’ll fly from the back and steal your fig

The Coldest Morning

Almond eyes, one said
Jasmine scent, another whispered
So many things to each
And none able to reach
I’m going too fast
Clasping tight to aeros
Becoming my own hero
Reddest knees ever
And not from pleasing a man
Nor from the coldest morning
But from sunrise reflection at the shore
Sure, I strive for more
Than this sore body can deliver.

But then up the hill I saw a deer
Racing at same speed, in fear
I told him - dear it will be alright
Taking harder way may suck
But look at beauty of this sight
Is that not enough to swallow?
As an energy infusion
Mind nutrition substitution
Run along with me wild soul
Where the finish line is not conclusion
Where there’s neither to or fro.

Ancient Science

Along somewhere you gave up
It’s not the distance, nor the job that mess up relationships
But people do
This is ancient science shit.

And don’t think me selfish, I understand your passions
Think of me naive, for living in your promised mansions
I just wish you weren’t such a coward
And at mere sight of defeat, move silently onward.

You closed the door, but door remains unlocked
For ifs and maybes come a knock
Don’t go on wasting another year or few
A poet never puts a comma where period is due.


Why is our hearing selective?
Why are our hearts destructive?

Why are thoughts impure?
Why is faith the only cure?

Why does our vision do us wrong?
Why do we feel we don’t belong?

Why must our emotions be disciplined
when we are promised the unlimited?

Why is there a set pace for us to follow
when we’re overwhelmed with sorrow?

Why is kindness mistaken for weakness?
Why is shyness mistaken for sweetness?

Why do we compromise to get nothing in return?
Why do we feel that there is nothing left to learn?

Why do sinners bathe in the Greek temples of the immortals when
saints suffer the fiery pits of the infernal 9th circle?

Why are our actions driven by lethal instincts?
Why can sins be repented within certain precincts?

Why are our complaints endless?
Why do we accept being left breathless?

Why do we have these questions?
Why did I head in this direction?
Why is this my perception?

Maybe I’ll leave an impression.
Could be a cry for affection?
Freedom of self expression?
A simple, yet life changing confession?
Don’t mistake this for depression.
Just a morning of decompression.

But why is the question.

- by Lara Atalie Hoff Smith

Spring fling

He’ll come around
when circus comes to town
He’ll come around
when clowns come out
He’ll come around
to have some fun
He’ll come around
but I’ll be gone

My friend

My friend,
She’s not for rent
Nor has a dent
In her soul
She’d rather sleep on the floor
Than in warm arms of a fraud

My friend,
There isn’t cure for the hopeful, the loving, the pure
And I admire her for keeping the smile on
When she’s misread, mistreated, and filed
In the cabinet of desired
But never granted

My friend,
I love her
I’m fond of her
She’s the one in fine crystal slippers
Riding carriage past the midnight
With me by her side
Letting the moon light guide

Lovely nothings

The clouds above us
Scattered cotton balls
Absorbing world’s thoughts, love and fears
And then dissolving, down they pour

While people hide under umbrellas
From their own recycled tears
And stain their skin instead
With lovely nothings from their dears

Photo by me, January 2014

I’m getting cold feet
I yelped
To him whose toes rest in a warm sand
With cocktail occupying giving hand

In and Out

This whole life we’re in and out. Air, food, sex, style, money, love. The concept controls our lives, and the only grasp we have on it is the speed. Whether we cut the out short, or prolong the in.
A fetus is a baby with time. A longer breathing clears the mind. A withheld phone call develops temptation.
We can only control the speed, and with that much power we determine our destiny.


A woman in drags
Stood up to the transit mass
With eyes shining like marbles
Chopped lips reciting the bible

"A donkey saw an angel
That man was blind to see” she fussed
Lady, you’re making assholes out of us
By putting ass as an idol
Lady, pop a midol

I live by my own fiction
Your propaganda is a friction
Don’t rub it in my face
Your way I didn’t gaze