Poetry from Anthologies by Gerald Jatzek

Poetry, lately...

What are the names of the colors
of galaxies merging?
What kind of beauty
emanate colliding suns?
Seas evaporate.
Histories and arts
unknown to man are
thoroughly wiped out.
Billions of billions of beings
reduced to atoms
for the sake of poets
on an uninspired planet.

reading l.c. & w.r.

who the road & who the signs
who the code & who the lines
who the sketches who the plans
who that matches
little man
who the stocks & who the shares
who the shock & who the stares
who the fires who the ban
who that hires

little man
who the tales & who the book
who the nails & who the hook
who the adam who the cain
who to speak

and write in vain

Dedication

Sara name and amen
i serve you in my verse
i turn your sword in words
your thighs your lies my lines

Rocks

Still, it's rocks that I admire most.
These perfect beings
make good tables
and carry the temple the brothel alike.
They wait for none and nothing,
not even for a skull to break.

No mineral will move
for any  mister, master, or magnificence
(ladies the truth is
diamonds have no friends).
No stone will judge a woman,
a poem or a man.
And it's not the wall that's wailing.
It's us, seven times us.

Bio from 2020:
Gerald Jatzek is a poet and musician from Vienna, Austria, who writes in German and English. He has published books for children and adults, short stories, plays for radio, and essays. In 2001 he got the Austrian State Prize for Children's poetry. His books have been translated into Korean and Turkish, his poems have appeared in anthologies and literature papers in a dozen countries. He has been involved in nonviolent political action for many years.

Poetry: No Miracles to Come by Gerald Jatzek

photo of clouds covering the sun

Were three kings came from the west,

one had stars burned in his chest,

one was cursed, one was blessed

Three kings.

Were three kings came in a tank,

names were bombs and bread and bank,

played the fool, the freak, the crank

Three kings

Were three kings, their songs were sung

by someone who had lost his tongue,

on laurel garlands they were hung

Three kings

Photo by Trevor Gerzen (Unsplash)

Poetry: Holiday Mass by Gerald Jatzek

Holiday Mass


the accordeon is sweating
tango pearls on the skin
of spanish dancers
lord and lady lizardhead
lipless vile and lidless
under lampoons of lore

raising their hands
in nuremburg fashion
they hail the high priest
his orchards his nails
that pin the star to the jacket
that pin the cross to the word

of course the cross is crimson
in the light of colored bulbs

Follow on Twitter: @jatzek_gerald

webpage: GeraldJatzek.com