Poetry

Speed Dating and other poems

by Julia Ciesielska

 

Speed Dating

he tried to be cool
the best football coach we ever had
always there to listen
I can’t remember him trying to change subject
when conversation grew strained
unlike most adults
he was awesome
our scores made us visible nationwide
we were young enough to fall for his lies
one yes to many no’s was all he needed
if our parents on their fixed incomes
were not so damned exhausted
I reckon they would have noticed
statutory rapes on minors
nobody gave us power over our destiny
we just sat still
posture: hands together in front
listening to the head master who reminded us
about the championship starting next month
the pressure school puts on us
we felt like ex-dates who traded
scholarships for keeping things quiet
behind school building walls

 

Daddy

were you there
when I was born to mother concrete
somersaulted across ugly backyards ?
I don’t remember seeing you
padding around the kitchen in slippers
the toaster full of finger prints
does not remember you either
you were probably gone
so I clung to a feeling
that you might watch me closely

fists tightened white to the bone
exchanged school for curfew
you were probably at work
when my knives collection gradually grew
sharper than anxiety
these demonic weapons
notched scars on many backs

you were in the same room
when I had to sign a charge sheet
your face shrank to a dry cloth
almost gone into shame
I might just as well ask
who are you to be ashamed of me ?

 

Against

it is a tenth time
since I have overcooked pasta
to achieve a delicacy of own skin
in Masterchef they would not appreciate it –
aldente rules
imposed reality
thin as an ice during a thaw
makes me question the purpose of obedience
an odd move
and you are drowned in insipid

in the bathroom hairdryer switched on
in the kitchen blender
I might consider a kiss with a socket
to resurface

 

P. O. Box

his P.O. Box was
a perfect rectangle
for hiding
convenient to reach
he was dreaming
it is a silky uptown hotel
he can scarce afford
checked in often
arriving from a world
of fags and booze for petrol
smoke-screened spaghetti junctions
junk food coating his spirit
with a rejection film
each check-in was marked
by a repetitive desire to enter
the alternative
own keeper
free to design
his insulation absorbed sounds
glad to let go:
a newspaper’s bang each morning
tension condensing between lovers
silent language filling to the brim
midday check-out
used to betray
where the inner world ends
and the other begins
he paid with cash
as no one lives anywhere for free

 

Klepto

did I see it or only want to
something inside me lacked courage to die
my weakness filters adjectives
with particular emphasis on ‘un-‘
for instance untight

weakness forms a denial
a denial forms into an outbreak
where to become a rebel you can
by doing absolutely nothing
above what is needful
use by date bargains, reductions
take my fancy at just wrong moment
– floor staff
passing I raise one hand in greeting
two raised in surrender

 

Count to Three & Be Awake

our times are not as hard
as in previous generation
fighting for cause
yet more tough
have to acknowledge caring less
be exposed to what they sense

our times should stash complaints
inside phone booths
if people still use them to communicate
but nowadays booths could do
only as exhibits
easy on the eye tour attraction
otherwise you enter
to bury anger beneath other people’s song
alternatively to sew lips shut
each time feeling urged to say inappropriate things

 

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Julia Ciesielska since 2006 lives in Belfast, Northern Ireland, where she works as a Translator and a Business Support in Recruitment organization known for Oil & Gas world wide. She has studied English Literature at Master degree and made certificate in Practice Personnel/HR at Queens University, Belfast. Apart from various literary magazines publications, she appeared in Shalom Anthology (Crescent Writing Group in Belfast) published in March 2015. Julia’s interests, echoed in her poetry, include the feminist revision of life or naturalistic perception of daily routines. After attending workshops of creative writing, organized by Lyric Theatre in Belfast, she also got interest in writing plays. Inspired by pieces of Martin Lynch she is working on a project that is presenting with the eyes of polish minorities their observations of living abroad.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

jane12

Long Dream

(acrylic on panel)

Jane Gilday

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