Cradle word

Every construction

Made by thoughts

That people use to call poetry

Is, in fact, a cradle

That the grown-up needs to carve

Just to lull himself

Through his rainy days.

Round

And leaving mown hay perfume around,

This warm shape that swings,

The wood of words, I mean,

Far away through ideas,

Needs so much to be heard

So it sounds, ...so strong.

Spam love

Alexandra C., age 5

If you notice one day
That it’s so cold throughout
That you need to cover,
But, shivering, you discover

That you’re no reason handless,
Like an enormous, unwinged,
Amazing, strong bird
Who only can run…

All right, it’s me the one
That have taken your arms,
Being in trouble of hugging myself
In the middle of a stormy afternoon.

And …if you simply cannot find yourself
Anywhere, one morning,
Let know that
It’s me the one who needs you so

That I had to kidnap you overseas,
To stay nearest,
Quiet and still, stealing time from you
Until each tear were shared.

The same, if you wake up one night
With so many blue-singing-fruits around
That the heaven-trees and their angels
Could become enviously,

Be sure, too, it’s me,
The one who invented them, making collages
By cutting special paper-dreams I got
And sadly adorning you with, in your sleep.

“Oh, no, do not be sorry for that!
It’s not so bad to spread
Undesired beautiful feelings
Or care that nobody is interested in…

This is the realy best part…
Actually, I can say this is the point!”,
Said to me the greatest spam-lover ever,
The Christ Himself.

Miriam D., age 5

Who

Maria M., age 5

I’m in a long splendid trip

To find the beautiful places

I used to see you

Long time ago.

That green long grass is singing,

That big blue bird is growing over the field.

I’m alone,

But happy to reach there.

I’m holding tight my own hand

And push myself to smile brightly.

I only have a short question.

Who are you?

Let's see...

Silvia D., age 6

If you deeply take care

Of somebody of your beloved friends,

Think and, then, tell me,

What exactly do you appreciate at him?

Do you thirsty need

His incredible presence, above all?

No. That's when you love you most.

If you would, you should smile knowing him flying.

Do you suppose that you love

The way he's looking at you or treating you?

No. That's the most selfish thought.

You never loved HIM, for sure.

Do you believe you love him because

You have noticed his fair face or his handsome body?

No. That don't means that you love him, neither.

You cannot effectively be in love with an immage, can you?!

So, why do you love a friend?

It's because you're among the people

That use to see that specific beauty inside of him,

The one that's impossible to be seen with the eyes, in any light...

That fact means that you love all the resulting events,

Including that he can hide, hurt or hate.

Meaning that he can run

And never answer to any whisper.

So, if you honestly want to find out

If you love THE REAL HIM in somebody,

You have to start by being brave,

I mean by loving his decissions, first.

Dor de Gabrielle

Mi-am amintit de o temă de scenografie a copiilor mei de la grădi: cum se poate inventa 

din foi de poezie o aripă... Răspunsul a fost în limba japoneză, desigur.

Iar în încercarea (ratată şi incompletă) de film pot să vă prezint o persoană deosebită, 

care joacă aici într-o piesă de pantomimă, creată special pentru ea, pentru că nu 

vorbeşte. Nu vorbeşte de supărare.

La festivalul de teatru şi origami al A.C.T.O.R. de anul acesta a trebuit ca fiecare 

concurent să prezinte ceva în legătură cu o floare. Subiectul general era "Florigami".

Alegerea noastră a fost floarea esenţială a umanităţii. Crinul din Rai. Cel pe care încă 

îl caut, alături de nişte prieteni secreţi.

Despre puiul meu şi despre aripile sale de hârtie o să vă mai povestesc. Deocamdată 

vă fac cunoştinţă. Se numeşte Gabi şi este un înger.