Category Archives: Original Poetry and Prose

Curated: A Poem by Collette Kristevski

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Window shoppers scrutinize
the divisive diatribe,
the preachy, pithy egoic lines,
memes of a world disorganized.
Shiny projections,
filtered (im)perfections,
enslaving mankind to contagious counterfeiting –
an invisible insurrection.
Get a glimpse
of their carefully curated museum minds
through windows the size of a palm.
Everyone is the other,
and no one is himself-
masquerading authenticity.
Even these words,
at first ignited somewhere else –
a subtle mimicry.

//Curated
//Collette Kristevski, 3/12/2019

Follow me on Instagram @paradoxandpaschalia for more original poetry and art.

Problem: A Poem by Collette Kristevski

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We pontificate on the Divine,
philosophize the Cosmos
and moralize the Other.

But we ourselves
are the entities to be analyzed.
We are our only philosophical problem.

We are problem enough.

//Problem
//Collette Kristevski, 3/5/2019

For more original poetry and art, follow me on Instagram @paradoxandpaschalia.

Enlightenment: A Poem by Collette Kristevski

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There used to be an innocent child
resting at the peripheries of my heart.
Upon seeing it’s malevolence,
he believed he had been enlightened
and never returned again to rest.

Enlightenment
Collette Kristevski, 3/7/2019

*art and words are my own*

For more original poetry and art, follow me on Instagram @paradoxandpaschalia.

Sinking Ship: A Poem by Collette Kristevski

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I chose to swim on our sinking ship
when Love said let it sink.
I burned our bridge and built it again
from the ashes heap.
I emptied my lungs with apologies,
and filled them again with your blame.
And if you ever said that I was crazy,
just remember, you made me that way.
All of those shoulds and should nots,
you laid them at my feet.
I chose the should nots to taste of your rust
which cut my tongue deep.
You said it was you, then said it was me,
and never took any blame.
I left without words, just ran away.
You managed to twist them anyway.
I tried to love you, tried to hold on,
whispered my hope through sighs.
I tried to heal you, tried to heal me.
The only way was to leave no goodbyes.
You live in your lies, you lose all your loves.
You can’t keep one thing straight.
You tell yourself you know of love,
so why do you manifest hate?

//Sinking Ship

//Collette Kristevski, 2018

Negligence: A Poem by Collette Kristevski

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We mine the mind,
– philosophize.
What we find
we think is gold.
We plunge the depth
of intellect,
but neglect the soul.

Negligence
//Collette Kristevski, 3/8/2019

“Men are often called intelligent wrongly. Intelligent men are not those who are erudite in the sayings and books of the wise men of old, but those who have an intelligent soul and can discriminate between good and evil. …These men alone should truly be called intelligent.”
St. Anthony

We have grown old by sinning: A Poem by Collette Kristevski

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I.
In infancy
we did not attempt to utter unutterable things.
We knew without knowing how we knew,
and we let ourselves dwell there,
in that sort of meaningful magic.
We knew to doubt the doubts.
So we lived fierce and free,
suckling the bosom of that odd Truth.

II.
It was not until
they ripped us from those arms of peace
and sat us under the tree of knowledge
that the magic became monotony,
that we forgot how to rest.
Our unsettled minds
now living in invisible chains,
but knowing not why it is hard to be free.

III.
In fear,
now we only love meekly,
when we mean it violently.
Our minds becoming dull day by day,
straining for knowledge,
but resisting Wisdom;
desiring rebirth,
yet resisting the Spirit.

IV.
We have grown old by sinning.

//We have grown old by sinning
//Collette Kristevski, 2015
*art and words are my own*

These flowers may be weeds: A Poem by Collette Kristevski

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I once dwelled there, wittingly –
the forest of myself.
Built a garden
behind a dusty wall of brick.
Threw myself at the mercy of the flowers.
Tended their thoughtful soil.
Watered their pensive roots.
A thinking that begins,
not with reason,
that ends,
not with clarity.
I,
a garden of unintelligibility.
A being alone,
and yet, with.
The brick, I now dust.
The wall, an old friend.

//These flowers may be weeds
//Collette Kristevski, 10/2018

*art and words are my own*