A poem. — Favorite spoon I don’t have, But I always have to use the same cutlery, E-ve-ry day! My table at lunch is always the same, Fork on the left, Knife on the right, Spoon for dessert on top; The lunch is always the same, At the same tupperware, And kiwi for dessert…

#WritingPrompt: lost languages — The Portuguese I learned, It’s no longer the same, A few changes they made, But in my journal, it doesn’t change.

A poem. Back in Bulgaria, I tried something new; What a freedom it was, To sleep completely nude. Days later, On a camping trip, Where I had my creative retreat, And staying naked in the tent was the recipe.

A poem. — Just because you’re standing, Looking at me, Won’t make me work faster; I don’t work under pressure. #WritingPrompt: the pace of life

A poem. I see you, Walking, standing, Or maybe, just a little bit of the top of your head, When you’re sitting, And I don’t know why, But you’re a delight for my eyes.

A poem. — Welding is like making love with a beautiful woman, You have to be gentle, lovely, And do the things with calm; But when the torch makes the bee’s song, That’s the sign you’re doing a job well done.

A poem. — Giving the sign to turn left, No cars on the horizon, So I move; I’ve looked for the right, And what I see made me think, «Oh boy, humans are f*ckd!» A car on the side, When it should be behind; It was two girls, That I thought, «They’re probable high.»…