Poetry Store

Ana As a Poet

What is the source of poetry? From what spring does language flow? These questions are as old as cave paintings or the stories told around a communal fire...Like sparks rising on the warm air, Gergana's poems illuminate the night sky, becoming stars that arc toward God. In ancient times the communal fire was a place of safety and sharing, and in this poetry one feels the connection and affirms, as the 14th century mystic Julian of Norwich wrote, "All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." Gergana's poetry is not just beautiful language or insightful metaphor. It is more. It comes from her soul's journey of hope and longing, and reaches depths that leave one feeling both quietly human, and vibrantly eternal. Perhaps this is the heart of poetry: the extension of the human spirit into the vast unknown, where all knowing, all being is formed.

Poetry is the story of journey, of exploration. As T. S. Eliot wrote, "We shall not cease from exploration." As we explore sometimes in the valley of the shadows, sometimes on the high peaks of joy, we sing, we write, we dance. Gergana knows this and sings, writes, dances. Her soul is a spark circling up from the human fire. It is light burning in the night sky, joining the countless lights that show the way home...Gergana's poetry gives dignity to our struggles and helps us walk into the heavens without fear. Her words gladden my heart.

Revered Russell O'Neal Clay
West End Poetry Press, New York City
from preface to "Here's To You"


Poetry TV


This Road

This road i walk on is narrow and hidden.
My bear body covered with thorns.
My mouth ever so dry.
Bloody drops drip from my small feet,
smear the soil and stones.
i meet others who travel,
wandering why i wish to walk here. Not there.
When all i could do is make a small step, change my direction.
Why do i only eat seeds,
when i could feast 'round the big human fires.

Why? Why? Why?
i don't know.
Maybe i'm in love with a Bird
who's tripping around, singing:
follow me, follow me,...and you shall find.
Yes, i do bleed.
Yet something inside me
pushes me forward, waters my mouth.
Maybe i ought to be crazy
when seeing the trails of my blood,
i hysterically laugh,
for it shows me that i am alive!

This road i walk on is narrow and hidden.
Here, you must learn to feed from the soil,
and drink from the lakes.
Here, you can shower with rain,
and shelter your body with blankets of leaves.
Here, you can talk to the plants,
and play with the beasts.
 And when your heart tells you a poem at midnight,
you may ask the Moon kindly, she'll lend you her light.

This road i walk on,
so narrow and hidden,
is just what i've searched for
since the day i was born.

 G. V. 2004
from "Here's To You"


Am I a Mystic

Am I a mystic,
or is it rather mysterious what has come into me?
To walk the streets like a ghost with eyes shut yet to see?
Only dust in the wind, passing clouds, sand in the hand..

I own nothing but a heart pumping love.
Its a bottomless well, you can drink from it, but...
Like flowers arranged in a beautiful vase,
intentions are fragrant... yet dust in the hand!
Yes, my skin and face pretty,
my songs angel's prayers..yet...
dust in the wind, sand in the hand.

God's words wash us clean every morning and eve
but His call is to feel them and watch how we live.
If I count all the minutes breathing in vain,
all the doubts, the complaining what will I get?
Only dust in the wind, sand in the hand...

 My beautiful friend what else can I say?
Lets simply live what we pray for and do what we say.
Lets grow wings and feathers, and fly to His door,
then bow to His Essence and kiss Him hello.

G.V. 2005
The Things I Like

you know this feeling when you really like a thing,
and you want to have it, now and more and always?
and this urgent longing burns you like a sting
madly scratching up and down and sideways?

like the thing of love for oysters
on a plate with lemon juice
or the moss that grows on cloisters
you can dance on with out shoes.

like the noise of rocks and pebbles
washing gently on the beach
or the smell of morning bagels
when you order one of each.

like the dream of distant places
that you wish to visit soon
or to look at foreign faces
humming strange and simple tunes.

like a night of chanting prayers
sitting calmly on a dune
with a heart attuned with flair
underneath an orange moon.

like the taste of cream and berries
that is good, you must admit,
or a pie with sour cherries,
someone said: "forget the pits!"

like a kiss in summer midnight,
hiding in a lilac tree
like a workout during twilight
or swimming naked in the sea.

oh, those things are so delicious,
and I want to have them all,
but, I know, I'm too capricious,
so ill stop!...and say no more. 

photo of Gergana and mom taken by Vesselin Velinov. poem by G.V. April 30, 2010 

A Page From The Diary of a Fasting Fool

What would you say if i told you that my fasting guts are so thrilled
to withhold from the pleasure of food in His Name
i feel as if Beethoven’s Eroika keeps playing inside of my tummy each day.
And my dried mouth thinks its the burning heat of waterless summer
somewhere in the heart of Somalia or Chad
searching for wells alongside a barefoot child
with cracked lips just like the earth’s.
My head dizzy, my thoughts slow like an intimate dance,
i move through the hours from sunrise to sunset
ecstatic, triumphant, yearning, in love with the pain.

Let me starve, give me less,
take my shoes, break my cup,
unveil my vision, burn my illusions,
close my eyes, open my heart,
shut my mouth, freeze my step,
another day, another hopeful moment,
pause this endless pursuit of cravings for cravings,
so i may see the Core, so i may hear the Voice,
so i may drown in this ocean of beautiful nothingness,
ecstatic, triumphant, yearning, in love with His Name.

G.V. March 10, 2011

What Do You See

come a little closer,
come, look behind this skin,
what do you see?
what do you see?

busy highways with traveling dreams,
roads that lead to never ending questions,
locked doors with oversized keys?

come a little bit closer,
come, look inside this mind,
what do you see?
what do you see?

a pinkified castle filled with joyful family plans?
atoms conversing about the mater of Love,
will they agree or will they divorce thereof?

come a little bit closer,
come look inside this heart,
what do you see?
what do you see?

a perpetual tear recycling factory,
that hoses sentimental gardens with hopeful white daisies?
or a lonesome soldier holding the flag of Illusion?

come a little bit closer,
come look inside this Soul,
what do you see?
what do you see?

a heavily trodden path to the "Tree beyond which there is no passing?"
a whirling dervish hysterically laughing?
or a one wing dove trapped in a cage?

come a little bit closer,
come look behind this skin,
what do you see?
what do you see?
do you see me?

G.V. October 12, 2011
How Can I Sleep?

how can i sleep..when my voice longs to sing to the stars
with no rest and no breath.. just like that, one long note 'till forever..

how could i sleep when the night holds such magic?
and what if i missed the nightingale's song,
the shootings' star fall, the rooster's first call?

why should i sleep when i often get visits
from small dancing creatures that play on my eye lids
then jump through the window to swing on the moonbeams.

oh, i can not sleep when time is so precious
and somewhere out there i know He is waiting
for me to arise and burn like a candle
healing hearts, kissing souls...'till im finally emptied.

Dear Night, please don't send your carriage and horses.
not yet..for this ball is so special, this moment so lovely,
please lend me a minute for a prayer or two
for a dance or a poem?..i'll give you a cue.

G.V. 2008
Live, Light Love, Lilies

Its time to get up and live!
Time to awaken from the long-cherished sadness.
For what is the use of my eye water lavishly raining,
when i see no flowers blooming, no forests growing?

Its time to get high and shout!
Just like crazy old Tony down the street on the corner,
I shall climb high and holler on a red plastic milk crate,
all the L words i know, with my hands stretched to God;

Live, Light, Love, Lilies…
Live, Light, Love, Lilies...

Its time to overthrow the old King of Sorrow.
You see, I served him well and devotedly long,
But still he gave me no bonus;
not on Nawruz or birthdays, nor in moments of growth.

Its time to part with the dreams i invented,
with a Heart that knew not L words at all,
kiss it all for good by, then run home and shower,
wash it off, clean it all and shout it once more…

Live, Light, Love Lilies…
Live, Light, Love, Lilies..

Its time to breathe in and swallow the lessons!
Cut out the pictures, the favorite songs,
make a scrap book then burn it,
blow the ashes on a steep mountain top.

Its time to walk in the fields of memories,
they were ceaselessly veiled in pink,
fall asleep in the arms of Reality,
then awaken with no place to go.

Its time to stay in the moment of Nothingness.
Right there with me and The Tree,
eat silence, drink prayers, then tenderly rise up..
start walking again and shout it once more;

Live, Light, Love, Lilies..
Live, Light, Love, Lilies
Live, Light, Love, Lilies.

poem and photo by G.V. September 2010

One Way?

Oh, My Lord, My Master, My Beloved,
Are you the only One that speaks the language of my heart?
Or is it Your well-founded wish to see me travel,
with one way heart beat, on a one way road?
In search of You I've crossed the Earth a myriad life times,
To find You in me, I've kissed the feet of many mock-up saints,
I've lived in war zones and in the wicked claws of love-brids,
I've even slaved and served the phony, pirate Gods.
And so I'll gladly walk a little further,
another town, another battle, one more sacred song,
And if You wish me to,
I'll even sprint or burn in flames of fire,
but does it have to be with one way heart beat,
on a one way road?
My Lord?

photo and poem by G.V. December 30, 2010


A Song About Stones

what should i do with the stones in my chest
squish them, throw them in the sea
build a mountain, keep them as a gift to me
are they precious gems or are they dirty sand

when will i learn to let them go
when will i learn to love them all
i don't know..oh, i don't know

one by one ive pushed them up the mountain
to a house of worship where i like to sit and pray
jealous priests all feast around them
are they precious gems or are they dirty sand

if i only knew how to let them go
if i only knew how to love them all
i don't know..oh, i don't know

maybe i can cook them in a stew
with two carrots and a dozen salty tears
eat them, crack them with my teeth and smile
while i let go, let go and love them for a while

G.V. 2008

The Great White Whale Tale

These are not the words of a child,
nor they are words of a nun preaching.
So sit still, put your splendid doings to rest,
and listen with your very center.
For it shall be, as it says, 
unless your heart has already gone deaf:

You must dive into the deepest craters within you.
Riding on the waves, you must let the Word of
Ocean reach the smallest cracks.
The salt waters shall preserve what is worth inside you,
so when inevitable soul starvation
descends upon the human race
you shall have shelter and feed on the
smoked poems hidden in the rocks.

Be not afraid,
for the light may not reach you there,
and yet you shall survive.
Like an ancient white whale,
who left a hundred generations ago,
nothing shall remember of your existence
but your eternal will to swim.
Above all that
“comes and goes,
rises and sets”,
the Journey is your own.
Foreseen by the Master's hand,
this moment shall come to pass sooner then you know,
and in the midst of the Great Waters,
you shall be left a clear drop hanging on the edge
of a floating ice.
Which way to go?
Will you evaporate into the mist,
or will you return into the hand of Ocean?
An ancient white whale,
you shall not remember why.
Drawn by an yell, you shall follow.
For the Abyss Is.
Inscrutable and hidden, brilliant azure,
and deeper than you'll ever know.
G.V. 2007

Ode To Lessons

Every lesson I've learned has bled like scarlet tears from my eyes.
No break..no warning.
Like a dolphin caught in a fisherman's net
crying to God for salvation from the impossible.
The soul chants in desperate solitude,
echoing back to an abyss of mechanical waters.
The more you move, the more you get tangled.

Until a moment,
when the Hand Of Grace
reaches out from the Heavens
gently turning the ropes into harmless seaweed
caressing the fins.

And so I've lived.

Endless times I have tried to die,
giving up all effort and faith,
letting my body get washed up on the dry sands of despair.

And yet again I've lived.

God has made me both
Human and Fish,
Lamb and Wolf,
Flower and Weed.

G. V. 2008

In the Garden

Its raining rose petals in the Gardens
where He likes to walk.
Sky and Earth one.
Dawn and dusk, one.
Midnight Suns shine warmly
on endless clusters of stars
mirroring the All Seeing Eye.

Oh, how He revealed the door onto me!
Following His invisible footsteps
i enter to feed on love-fruit and wine.
My lamb lays sleeping in His feet
while He rests on a cloud bench.

Oh, how peaceful!
How sacred and adorned is this Garden!
I have forgotten how to speak!
My lips have no use here
but to smile and kiss.

It's raining rose petals...
It's raining rose petals...
Please...turn me into one,
so i may fall gently in Your fuzzy beard.

G. V. 2006

Music in Heaven?

What are the days of my life
but rolling prayer beads moved by
the Master's hand?
Each morning,
with eyes fixed on the Horizon
my sighs echo the heavens.
Tears roll down my cheeks,
sisters of the morning dew.

This bench in the park,
this heavenly throne
has become the threshold
of my salvation.
My worry head laying on the rough edge
bows down to the intimate moment
I have been allowed to enter.
I sing to the inner fog
with hope that it will move to the East
and follow the Divine winds.
For what can a seeker hold on to in a fog
but the Arcane Voice that whispers: 

"Thou wert created to bear and endure,
O Patience of the worlds."

And so I sit and wait..
There is nothing but silence, two birds and a hyacinth.
Allah-u-Abha..Allah-u Abha..Allah-u-Abha..

Does the fall of my prayer beads
make music in Heaven?

G. V. 2007 

 Rose Soup

i will make a soup of roses
so nutritious so delicious
it will make all humans shout and run
Baha'u'llah has come, Baha'u'llah has come

their senses will be shuttered
their hearts will be so flattered
nothing else will do but this
they will eat it with a bliss

petals, stems, thorns and all
i will serve it with a glow
it will turn their minds and thoughts
into a race that has no faults

and this recipe of mine
will be so Supreme and fine
you will know im not the cook
i just found it in The Book!

G. V. April 21, 2008

All poems and photographs copyright by Ana Velinova. Use and reproduction of any sort internationally is unlawful and protected by law. 
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