cream

it’s easy to be elitists. it’s easy to consider ourselves superior from the top of our mound of clay. it’s easy to confess our beauty when others are so, but SO ugly. it’s outrageously easy to judge, intoxicated by the strong air of the heights where we find ourselves, the smallness of the things that … Continue reading

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topiary

tonight i will lay my thoughts not on some pillow but on a mound of earth, to allow them to take roots and to spread those deep, deep underground, in search for water and lava, to socialize with them and to feed on them and to bring up to the surface, up to the core … Continue reading

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Book launch today :)

Today at 12:00 EET I am releasing my third book of poetry, “The hidden well“. In less than one hour from now you will be able to find it on http://www.lulu.com/shop/liliana-negoi/the-hidden-well/paperback/product-20208265.html in paperback and also on http://www.amazon.com/The-hidden-well-ebook/dp/B008CDW0DW/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1340266444&sr=8-2&keywords=liliana+negoi in Kindle version :). Those of you who would want to chat, I will be available on skype, just search … Continue reading

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note – sonnet

along the boulevard of naked dreams a graphite-wounded paper floats at ease caressed by salty smiles and honeyed beams and carried by an old and restless breeze. on it – just a few thoughts. a slice of soul that’s kept alive by aid of shivers. sand was never able to erase the whole handwritten message. … Continue reading

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a sandglass of footsteps

the wind scratches the road’s back, while the latter stretches its bones like some asphalt cat overwhelmed by the heat of summer midnights flowing thick and dry all over it. yesterday’s prints still linger along its skin, like a string of beads, worn but still smelling like the beautiful dust of life. silent, the road … Continue reading

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the pollen of days – sonnet

along the shores of time lay full of dust the empty shells of words remained unsaid, like iron blooms of thoughts, now kissed by rust and left to die on Lethe’s silent bed, on mossy pillows of forgetfulness – and while their soul is slowly drained by tide, our heart, touched by the hand of … Continue reading

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Atlas

each of us have our own atlasian moment, when we carry our own personal earth as hunch, but I swear it is not the weight of my earth that bents my spine – it is just the one of my fear that my earth is too small and light and insufficient to keep me from … Continue reading

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treasure

i saw in his study, on a shelf, a tiny stone it looked like nothing precious to me, neither diamond nor some other valuable ore, ‘twas just a piece of rock, of an undefined color and an irregular shape i took it in my palm, gazed at it for a while, then raised my eyebrows … Continue reading

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