The Gate

When i had finished
closing all the small doors
the Gate I had longed for
opened.

To a lost friend

tell me

when did we learn to speak past each other so well?

the silence getting uncomfortably loud

the beats clashing like cymbals 

two gears just the right distance apart

to break each other's teeth

and then; again: I spoke for too long

tell me

is it me

who's growing gray and dull inside?

To a lost city

Oxford

truth be told

will always be

my second home

that summer chalet

far and near

more than a shield

more than a sword

youth in the spring

a story long told

something borrowed

something blue

something to lose

to find her anew

To a Lost Country

The fog of anger

The fog of hurt

The fog of power

The fog of evil

Clouds

Clouds

---------------------

But among the fog

Evil does not see

The plants rising

Hide and Seek

one,

did he hide inside men's hearts?

two,

my heart has creatures 

three,

i dare not disturb

four,

and who knows,

five,

which one he's hiding behind?

six,

or is he hiding in plain sight

seven,

our eyes too focused on infinity to see him?

eight,

is our imagination too vivid

nine,

or our senses too numb

ten,

to know whether there's anything,

anyone, hiding at all?

here I come!

Magyar Thoughts

Dear Readers,

I appreciate all the views to this blog so far.
As you will have noticed, I haven't been so active lately.
My original plan had been to primarily translate Hungarian poems, but over the years the balance has tilted towards my own poems. And now I have a couple of thoughts that are not necessarily best expressed in poetic form.

So my plan is this: hopefully I will still publish poems here, and hopefully many of these will be translations. But for my short thoughts, I will use a new blog: magyarthoughts.blogspot.com. So that for those of you who are more interested in poems, I do not "spam" you with my not-necessarily-poetic thoughts.

Best,
mc losh

Clarity

What's more sobering
peaceful
adventurous
joyful
challenging
dreadful
yearning
hopeful
a clear day
to twisting night
than life itself?