Leaves fall, seem reluctant to let go of their tree,
When do, flip into a desperate tumble,
As if to avoid the descent, attempt to stay airborne,
But not all of them, before parting,
Helen had her hair done,
Rose bought a pair of expensive shoes,
Bill changed his will,
JP ordered a duplicate key to the house
He will never enter again.
How I wish that I followed my elders' advice, lied, promised, fought less, helped others more often. The side of the balance sheet that shows my good deeds mostly cats, dogs and birds, against the wicked, is a sorry sight in front of You, who I prayed, again appeal to, in all sincerity to keep my loved ones out of harms way. I am sorry. I offer myself in their place, I know that all of them are younger, beautiful, handsome, if less experienced, but smarter than I am, so, the 'deal', the barter seem to favour me; yet, if you think of me as of being an old shoe, knowing that you are tireless, are always around, you might want to use that few miles left in me. I humbly offer myself. Please let them grow old. Few of them are so beautiful, including J, that without them this world would not be worth to live in. I do not offer socks; few would read this that I am taunting you, being disrespectful, but I am not, I am scared shitless for them, they need one who will teach them to lie, fight, mislead in order to live, well, to survive. Who will do it after you accepted my offer? It is most likely that after You, I would be the best to educate them about love, the beautiful idea, parts of your creation, our life. So, I beg you, in the eleventh line of this letter to look after them.
Please help me to find J, I am worried about her health, well being in your presently virulated world.
Yours, Karoly Sandor.
Dear J, dreams, all I have left. I miss you. Next Saturday, I will wait for you at the usual place, at the usual time.
My friends, what were you expecting?
My friends in Sciences,
Fueled by tempered lust, noble desires,
You know where your rocket is now?
The messages I received,
The poems for my lover,
Are gifts from Mnemosyne.
Dear J, I hope that you are well, and happy. I am working hard on the libretto; on the last reading (300+ p.) of my novel, and on a volume of my poems, so when the time of our meeting comes you would be proud to know me. I worry about your workplace exposure. Can one overdo wishing someone well? I think of you often. Please be careful, spring is on her way. I am not sure what to make of my last night's dream. It made me accept, understand that I was the sea, I love to swim, do it very often, but even then this was a great promotion. You were a beautiful sail boat, I am not sure if it was red, but I found that it had no crew or captain, yet it seemed under control. there was one sail up, kept its distance. The weather was calm, I never thought of boarding it, or shout for help, asking for a captain. The scene lends itself to few favourable interpretations, of course I want to be the captain, but how will I explain his absence; lost at sea? I love to be in the sea, would never underestimate her powers, were caught in currents, felt always comfortable regardless its depth. Mutiny of the crew? That idea just have occurred to me now. I used to have tiny sailboat, learned to sail, done that in some rough waters, I have no idea where the dream came from, perhaps it was a reward, a bonus for my prayer? I hope that all is well on your vessel. Do you have a good, reliable crew, I could not estimate the boat's size, perhaps thirty-thirty-five feet. I have not seen a shore, but was not afraid. Well, it was a dream.
Good night dear J. If in your dream you are sailing, see a lone swimmer, and since there is no shore in sight, how did he get there? Perhaps he was dropped off, knew that you would come by. But there were no other boats around. Please dream on,
with love, Karl.
Dearest J, last time I prayed was for a smooth journey to heaven for old Demetri, who taught and often sang with me the Torna Surriento. He was mentor and a man of good will and kind to me. That was after he built his business empire. You are now, the most beautiful woman in the world. Knowing what you study, the work you volunteered to do I will pray for your safety. Like a boy, I will go, and like a man present my case, reason, beg, ask for help to keep you in good health; humbly offer my sacrifice.
Good night dear J, with love, Karoly.
Dearest J, please look after yourself; I know that you know how to, but how can I be sure? I cannot break up the protocol I set for you and I and appear out of the blue. Nothing would be easier. But what if that would cause an embarrassment? I wish you have the little bracelet on your wrist, that would give me some happy rest. I have to wait until you decide to write or come to the place where l wait for you, But not tomorrow! The well being of the two who own the place and work there is in my hand too, I have to keep them safe from the virus. Dearest J, please take all the steps to stay out of harms way. I am certain to write again tomorrow. Have a peaceful dream and if you succeeded let me know how to do that. Dearest J, please stay healthy. I am working on the libretto and the lyrics for the song I composed for you a month ago.
With love, Karl.
Dear J., very sad words invaded my sanctuary; Frankie, the little black dog, with hairy, floppy ears and a bid-big heart had died. She had two operation, had a tumor in her heart. The little dog, was, still is for me, was more than a friend whose unadulterated love helped me to forget my disappointments, helped me to believe in miracles. I think she loved me. The first at the door to welcome me. Two days ago I found her in front of her loving master's feet on her side. I got down onto the floor and put my face to her's and spoke to her. There was no explanation for the almost hysterical affection toward me trough the years; her original mistress wanted to get rid of her. I knew she was very ill, I put my face to hers and talked to her, softly, she gave few sounds of acknowledgments, attempted to lick my face, but she was weak. I caressed her head and after a while left, close to tears. There was nothing that we would not do, pay for her recovery. She was, is my friend. I will write about her, she will be the measuring instrument for goodness, of giving without expecting anything in return, of something like love. Her mistress said that she cooked, just for Frankie, in addition to the family's dinner after Frankie returned home from the operation. She is immortal, irreplaceable, a fuse in family disputes, a no-man's land where armistice was possible, loved by all. She was my friend. For me, her passing is a tragedy. It is unlikely that I would ever understand the how, that so much affection, happiness could be packed into a small black body like hers.
No one is as sweet as my lover,
No one is as beautiful and kind,
No one is as generous and gentle.
In the centre of the universe,
She sways to the beat of my heart,
In her orbit, I am astonished, immobile.
Good night dear, beautiful J. Dream about me, putting a good bone with some flowers onto the monument for a dog, who passed trough many lives without ever being loved.
With love, K.
The inscription over the entrance of Plato's academy reads:
"Let no one enter here who does not know geometry."
The inscription over this volume of verses reads:
Do not enter here if you don't dream of your lover,
If you did not run to be on time for a date,
If you did not spy on her window,
If you did not want to see her in the nude,
If the rhymes of the way she walks
Do not fill the shelves of your lust's library,
Do not enter here if you did not learn love's Heliometry.
You surveyed all my Angles,
Allowed my Latitude, studied my Degrees, and Longitude,
Categorized my Points, visited my Circle,
You, live in my Sphere,
Dissected my Hyperbolas,
Abhorred the Triangles,
You solved the Parabolas, and tired of Parallels
Numbered my Cubes, sliced my Cone,
Leveled my Plane and circumscribed the Pyramid.
You are the Princess of my Cylinders,
Mistress of Rectangles,
Tolerant of a Square.
Goddess of Curves in your sun blessed land,
You fill my compass.
You J., the most beautiful woman in the world, I was on time this morning. You did not appear, but I felt good just by thinking, what if you came?
Dear, beautiful J, beautiful J,
I have a few jars of acacia-tree flowers' honey from Hungary, unique, the flowers are delicate, have a sweet fragrance, lovely, it has inimitable taste. As a boy I used to climb the acacia tree, full of thorns, mostly avoiding them got a hold of the handful of the flowers still on their stems and by pulling it between my lips, I ate the small, sweet, white tufts off the stems. One had to be very careful, the flowers were the favorit delicacy of the the honey-bees too, and one of them collecting the mind-bending sweetness could be trapped in the mouth of the careless raider. Thinking of the mind bending sweetness of the honey I thought of your lips. I remember them, small delicate, from the distance of time I think that they were afraid, yet inviting, lonely. I heard your words, their music. Confucius, and others played with the feeling I had, by the definition of Sydney Smith, music is the only cheap and unpunished rapture upon earth. Yes, it was magical, hypnotic but not unpunished, I yearn, I yearn to hear it again; in my dream I hear the instructions you gave before parting, you wanted to be sure that I understood then walked away from me. No, I was not ready to leave, not ready to leave. But I did. I felt that something happened that I could not find a word for. I felt as if you were, your words were quick, quicker than usual, as if you wanted to get over with it, perhaps because I stood close to you and you sensed that I was elated, aware of the fact, that we inhaled from the same air. The closest I have been to your lips was about eighteen inches. Millions and millions of light-years from me standing in front of you, the distant observer saw a brilliant flush of light, it came on, he pushed the alarm, alerted the others, they ran over to his instruments and saw that they found that was so elusive, a miraculous event, a man whose ravaged heart seemed destroyed, thought by all to be beyond repair, fell in love.
A miracle may happen, this is supported by the fact that I am writing these words. One day she may have her arms around me. Until that time, I wish it for tomorrow, but if later, in my dream I will hear the sound of her words, taste of the honey of her lips.
Good night dear J. Please take care of yourself in this perilous time. Please. Dream that we are dancing, you be safe in my arms. With love, Karoly..
Oh J, You are the most beautiful woman in the world; you are, I should know, was invited to judge thirty-one times to decide who was the most beautiful. The little gold bracelet had been given to the person who is in charge of the next step where you would study/work. I hope you have it by now. If I find that you do, that would make me happy and forget the discomfort I had at the time we met. Let the little bracelet enjoy being on your wrist. Lucky little bracelet. with a heart-beat pendant. Dear J., this morning I was five minutes early, once there, on closing my eyes, you appeared in my mind, looked a little apprehensive.
Why, there were other chairs on the floor and at the window too. I hope that you are well, healthy and working in a safe environment. I wish you were not in the front, of the front line. I do worry a lot about you. I have some good news you should know, but for now, only you should know, not the rest of the world on this website, so, when the time came I would fill you in about it. You did not come but,
You must have been around,
I saw men taking to themselves,
Must have seen you.
I sat, thinking about you,
The sun came out.
Dear J, Good night. Dream that the two beat up, old trees, my favourites on Sixteenth Avenue had not been cut down, are still standing. Please have enough, good rest. I am sure, to dream about you.
With love, Karl
Dear J, my many friends from China, Europe, USA and Canada, I am afraid I have to move my website from GoDaddy.
Would do as soon as I have the time to pay attention to it.
From loaf of years,
In slice of months,
Crumbs of moments.
Behind life's pastry shop,
I stir in the bin of the past
To sooth the hunger
Of my foolish heart.
In the theater of your life,
Off stage, to be near,
He swept the floor between the rows.
There was a time when he was to be
Your leading man.
As he stood among the remains of his hopes,
You flashed the sparking blade of your smile;
He was I, you were passing by.
You can not sing my song.
My poem cannot be recited,
Her walk is not a sculptured beauty,
The song, charms the cosmos,
Hit in the Purgatory,
Erato, put it on the top of her chart.
My offer of oats to Erato.
If you would be a cut-out girl
On my box of cereal,
On the day you become real,
Take my life for eating all.