Poetry

Original poems which Nikola published:

Nikopoem poetry blog

@nikopoem Instagram

@_theniko13 Instagram

Original poems which Nikola had written in draft form on his blog:

Fields like Waves

The fields go like waves,

The polja like ice,

The trees like the ocean

Of a distant blue rise.

(March 13, 2022)

Poems from Kaldešćica . Diary 13.03.2022

Like sky

The gray woods

Rise to the sky

With thin blue stripes

Of winter's sky.

Rising up leafless,

Lanky, empty

From green

Into widest winter blue.

Kristal ice

Along the stream.

Oh! It goes up

Straight up

The cliff

The trail to the heights.

I climb up

I see myself up at the top,

Oh, to see what he sees! reaching the height of the trail.

The skies are so

So spacious blue

Endless in it away the moon

Faded white

Glooming gray

And somewhere in the space below

A jetplane trail is streaking, slow

And though the moon is far away,

It looked like it flew higher.

(March 13, 2022)

Diary 12.3.2022

Divim mi se.

Živ sem,

I če hodim na svetu ovome.

Meknem slične kukca na karte

I divim se Bogu

Jer meni je on del ovud,

I živim.

("Divim mi se", written March 12, 2022)

A poem

And here, the voices waft,

Waft like angels

In sky's of choirs,

Although truly,

Where they sing

Is small and warm with yellow walls

The walls fill with fading photos:

Churches, and various narodni calendars

And people who sang in those rooms and then died

The songs gathering and weathering away

The long-ago figures of a long-ago frame.

And the singing waftes

Praising a name

O be with these

And thank you for her voice

Allow her to sing

There it waits, above the choirs in the edge of the room

That sing below it, it's golden frame

Over a photo faded so nothing can be seen

As the last few generations of choirs sing.

And the painting fades,

Long-ago in the yellow room

As once in a while a singer wonders what was at the beginning

And each choir wonders what the last generation saw

(March 11, 2022)

Diary 10.3.2022

I thought I saw

A great dog

Leaping across the fields.

I saw a boy

Leaning against a tree and playing a guitar

As I walked to him

On dry melodious leaves.

The sun

At the end of the day

Speaks through the striped blue clouds

And sinks through the trees

(March 10, 2022)

Hara, the First.

The sun

Burns

Somewhere upon the church,

Somewhere in Hara.

Burns

Behind the brown ones / branches

Somewhere in the forest,

Somewhere on Hara

Fields

Fall

To fading hills

Somewhere on Hara.

Hara is as our world,

But everything burns deeper,

Deeper,

Deeper.

(March 7, 2022)

I haven't written a poem forever!

I am as empty as the endless plain of sand

There is one wicker chair that sits among sand

And the empty sky, and on it am I.

(March 4, 2022)

short Poems

Taste the universe

I watch the clock tick slowly to day.

My clearest water is the drought of fresh air

I wander into the fog

(Which I would not know was there

Except for the grainy pallor of a street lamp),

Spiritual

Your servant is listening;

Your spirit speaks.

(March 3, 2022)

Ja sam putnik i pustinjak

Želio je biti putnik i pustinjak,

Sjetio sam se ja prošetavši doma.

Osjećao sam poziv posjetiti kozmos

Međutim odlučio sam nastaviti s poslom.

I znaš li kaj?

Pustinju sam doživljavao putom.

(March 2, 2022)

Twilight

I am upon the train yard

Momentarily

As empty as the evening

Verily.

Golden lights from cars blink by.

Apartments faraway touch sky

I alone to walk the evening

Train lights red show none but me.

(March 2, 2022)

Selce, February 26, 2022

Rijeka

The mild sailboat totters in the waves

Of a water crystal disarray.

The wind blows mists of walls by Krk

It blows my scarf as I write these words

Of water roaring up onto shores

The water sliding down to the source

The water whistling from here to the island,

The water whipping up in the wind.

We walk down on rocks.

These rocks are flat, warm, beautiful.

Clear water rushes onto them.

This sea is large but benevolent,

Gifting foam between my toes

A message of peace between smooth stones.

From which it slides eternally under

And replenishes, replenishes, breaks, and breaks

As I walk along the shore.

On a place on the end of the world

With the blue sea below

Two benches face each other

With an old man on one

And two granddaughters on the other

Mist.

Sunset.

Walls of gold.

Look

The water has turned grey

The sun, gold

And the sky, everything.

In the Mediterranean alley,

The sage cascades over the archway

Opposite a addresses like fifty-threes.

A lamp glows,

Glossy, twirled upon iron,

Treating light where the bura barely seeps.

(February 27, 2022)

Names

We find more stars,

And we assign them numbers.

We find more chemicals,

And we assign them numbers.

We find more,

And more,

And more

And more, and more, and more people,

And we give them nothing but names.

(February 27, 2022)

False Leaves

When reads the leaves,

The clouds alight

So slowly slowly

Flight all light

So real so real

In the middle

Of streams of dreams

Absurdity

Will leave will leave

The fair asphalt on

Coffee one

A chair is out on

Eons eons

In these leaves

You feel no feel

But leave belief

Surreal surreal

Leave the leaves.

(February 20, 2022)

Butterfly

17/2

The butterfly

Transformed

Into a leaf.

To sem doživljavel dok sem stal pred glavnim vratima faksa, dok su drvje vreli hladnim vetrom, gda sem završil ispit, i su leptire leptireli okole.

The pages of the Psalms

Flutter in the air.

Ja nisam nikad bio na kampusu dok je zvjezdan.

(February 17, 2022)

Photo taken on January 20, 2024 in Sv. Ivan Zelina

Snow

See how the sky

Is soft blue and soft white;

And the earth, soft white,

With snow;

With sky.

See how snow

Falls wide and light;

See sunlight

Which falls

With life.

The clouds in sight

Softly bounce and softly fly

As land is quiet

With snow,

With child.

See how the sky

Is soft blue and soft white;

And the earth, soft white,

With snow;

With sky.

(January 25, 2022)

Another Poem About a Tree / Here it is

In winter's doubt,

The little tree sprouts

Into sun (when shown),

And I write a poem.

Here it is.

(January 24, 2022)

A Poet's Tree

I notice a tree

When I breathe, when I breathe.

A tree with no

Fallen leaves, fallen leaves.

I stand by the tree through which poetry runs.

Poems of trees come as briefly as my breath,

As eternally as theirs.

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The aching limbs

Are to spread, unto end.

(January 23, 2022)

A boy against a tree, in the starry night

I sit against the tree,

A boy and his book,

And the tree is naked,

And evening is light.

I sit under the tree,

The evening of the year,

And I peacefully read

That Sarah died.

(January 23, 2022)

Flecks

The tree is

Flaked and

Gray and

Pink.

And little

Seasons

Sprout

From trees.

The snow is falling on to me.

(January 22, 2022)

Just Today

Statues.

I see a magic bench in the park.

I walk along the stones that are sprinkled with pine.

I dance the courtyard where statues sang.

Their faces noble, they ask me to join.

To a bell and a chapel's melody we hark,

We write a poem, we live in time.

(January 5, 2022)

Many Candles

In a graveyard filled with flickering Saints,

In November, with cold flowers and lanterns– is

A grave

With one small candle.

(November 6, 2021)

"In Winter, Float"

I came home one winter fest

Full of prayer and happiness

I prayed to angels named by El

And walked as wind and raindrops fell.

I came to home when daylight ceased.

Though cold, I paused, in reveries.

My sayings dissipated home

Began my contemplation,

Slow.

And one side stayed a while, quite,

And one side, outside, slipped inside.

Of cold, of home, what truth will own:

Is I, I came and wrote a poem

I float into my waiting home;

I float from ice into my own.

(September 30, 2021)

Easter

The sun arises: it is Easter!

The birds rejoice, for it is Easter.

The rain relents, as it is Easter.

The flowers form, for it is Easter.

I rejoice,

For it is Easter.

The fire warms, for it is Easter.

I am free, for it is Easter.

I awaken. It is Easter!

I am saved, as it is Easter.

I write nature on this Easter.

The hills revive, as it is Easter.

The cross redeems, for it is Easter.

The stone is rolled, as it is Easter.

The gardener declares it's Easter.

Magdalene Mary prays on Easter.

I am at peace,

Because it's Easter.

The Son will rise,

For it is Easter.

(April 15, 2021)

Unfinished - Ponder as I Stroll

The morning rises with pure perfection

And in its dominions dance Creation

And I feel joy.

Four mallards squat on a wet driftlog

And watch the sunrise as I stroll on past:

Two velvet males with their wives beside

Two calicos of their husbands glad

They are sure of their life. The questions

That pass through my head they ignore:

Do they mate for life? Or enjoy the sun?

One thing they are sure: my invasion annoys;

They one by one follow plopping in the stream:

Two mallards, two females, four minds never asked.

One bird beneath: no mate on her log

And it's lowest seat and she is confident.

I continue on my wanders and soon I observe

The moss that belches across the walk

The sidewalk that groans on an arrogant root

And the scum of old shrubbery, no farmer to prune.

Can I be like the green ducks, with beauty without thought?

Speak my thoughts still unbidden, or will I crawl like the moss

Across an existence, ever uglier every day

I forget to ponder as I stroll?

I fret into church and with the choirs cry out

All Creation bless the Lord! To your maker give praise

I pray, may I find my beauty someday

And understand what I ponder like the mallard on the log.

As I leave the Church I gaze at the sky

Where the sun has overtaken the dome of pure beings

The clouds are a few scratches across the sky

And my life a few squiggles of confusions and joys.

(January 17, 2021)

Cottage Grove, Oregon

OLPH (parish in Cottage Grove, Oregon)

Spirit of a Poem

Science cannot say it:

The truth of the life

The inexpressible groanings

The inexhaustible graspings

The everlasting

The feel-making

Truth-aching

The wandering

Wondering

The word no one defines

That we call spirit.

Thus,

We have poetry.

If art expresses the human life

Then there must be as many arts as lives

And fields and forms and media and style

And more we cannot invent

For the folded faces of the heart that’s hidden.

Every spirit lives a story,

And every drip of cosmos breathes poetry.

They are waiting to be written in word

Or painted absurd

Or danced and bestirred

To be seen, touched, and heard.

A play of words can be an art

That sings a stanza from the heart

By poem or story, stagnancy or journey.

In the growing flow of every story

Is the ancient human fluke of journey,

And a poem is an imprint

Which every feeling sends.

In words less poetic,

This poet is confident

That a story tells a journey

A poem captures a moment,

Or moments, rather, an image.

A poem can tell a story that symphonizes an image, and

A story can write a poem discovered on a journey.

Every life has story; feel and sight have poetry.

Poetry is an image, and endless images blur into a human’s eyes

Story is a journey, and a hundred series weave into a human’s cries

A billion poems have scribbled from humans’ hands

Like the sands of beach.

Like the stars which we reach.

And they are not enough.

A human, just one, is so much.

And a world, just ours, is made of such.

But there is one life-spirit,

And even poetry

Will not tell it.

(September 19, 2020)

Handwritten poems discovered in Nikola's university notebook, 2021-2022:

THE END

The Saints - Real People

in Heaven truly

They are the monks and nuns in communities

in the glaves, where the evil cannot reach, where they

praise God, where Jesus is real.

- They seek Jesus, so they find

- He has an effect on them, so he is true.

“Just Like That”

And just like that,

The sky of birds took flight,

Sprayed across all azure,

Crossing,

playing,

kissing

Across the sky

they became.

I see why I like analyzing poetry

I see why I like analyzing poetry -

Because I want every word,

Every moment,

To be right.

Handwritten poems in the small notebook, December 2022-January 2023:

As the bombs erupt,

I gaze on you.

As a war rages around me,

I am in the sacristy.

As the bombs erupt,

As the bombs erupt, I am here.

I am the Poet in the Church

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