Three songs by Adnan Kurtagic

[Efficient in failure]

Efficient in failure

Closed in a padded frame

In search of the real me

Bird without wings

A fish that is drowning

Without wishes, without dreams

To love, I don’t know how;

I don’t know how to be loved.

My view on life

Is your view on death.

Captured in darkness

Brought by the sun,

day by day, by day,

I await the light of love

or freedom in death.

[Late hours. Quietness]

Late hours. Quietness

Drops of rain disturb the silence,


Distant. pale and remote



Half existing.


They have dreamt

and will dream

The same fantasy


For then they are free.

Only then they see:

more distinctly

Through the mist.As the rain breaks down

the clouds.

My Thoughts are at the beginning

Spacious thoughts

in a narrow place

don’t really have much chance

of escape

You remain awake

in dark solitude.

Flying over the world

looking for yourself

unique and liberated

not thinking about anything

ready to accompany

the unknown

the limitless

the imperishable


of endless size

and nearby stars

are your new dimension

Then you feel the tranquility of other spaces




My thoughts are at the beginning.

Three Poems by Elma Delic

[A wild storm it is but how]

A wild storm it is but how
do you bask in the calm,
and the warmth of the sun,
Without a little thunder showing you
what’s it like to hurt.
and cry.
and sob.
and miss.
End your heartache with the only medicine worth, me
I am the one who tosses out your storms and calms your lightings.
Enjoy me, bask in me, rub your touch upon every parcel of my skin
and unwrap it,
unravel me
Make me a skeleton turned polarized fragile from your lips,
String me up like a muppet and I’ll dance
dance so beautiful it invites crows to scavenge eyes of the audience.

[I will be your honey, milk and silk]

I will be your honey, milk and silk.
I will be the mahagony edge of a pool table
you rest your weary arms from the stick.

And the light, illuminating your chocolate eyes,
and if my sufferings were swapped with Tantalus
and I would still gift away my hungry heart,
for a sight of the brightest citrines staring back at me. 

I am, just like your hands, weary of the heartache
I am, just like Ive always been, your guiding sea light
I am, I am, I am made for you.
Whoever I am, I am for you.

Let’s be cliche
Let’s say this air tastes like the thought of you…
the grassy thickness I smear with the top of my tongue coats my insides

[Let’s be cliche]

Let’s be cliche
Let’s say the song of birds at dawn ..
and the rustling of the tiny river ..
sneakily reminds me of the melody your laugh was

Let’s say you never were the piece of fucking shit you were

Phoneix S. Flawell


From the mountain top
The world unfolds
Opens up like a fan
A peacock tail for all to behold
A flower in full bloom unseen by all
In the backdrop of a stone wall
On this most wonderful of stages
In the shadow of the mighty mountain
On the bottom of each dark place
Such wonders hide
To see them on must only open their eyes

I Tugged Your Sleeve to Remind You by Elma Delic

I tugged your sleeve to remind you,
I’m the type of girl poems are written about. Here, now read them?
The type men have conquered seas for
only to bask in the shades of my presence.

The intelligent type, I reminded you
you shouldn’t be scared of it.
I begged you to listen, not reject wisdoms I find myself destined to pass on.

I embodied the star actors of my childhood movies,
a woman,
capable of everything and anything,
who’s world is an oyster;
but destined to fix a flawed man
like my mother taught me that
men are clay, and it’s you who shapes them.

I remember on a quiet day I spent an hour
excitedly describing you contents of my favorite book, an analysis on Games of spring and death, butterfly effect carpe diems
A little over an hour ticked,
I apologized for rambling
you said
let it not happen again.