With Eyes Closed

A mother’s love
Keeps brothers close
Repeated stories of an unchanged past
Borders dream but are fixed in a place
Creating the present
Is the only control they can embrace
Reinventing the future desperately
Is it possible for souls to possess an eternally bonding intimate life?
Phenomenon disappears upon the onset of answers
Like a bird in a cage with a friend
they hang
Foolishly thought they’d be free
Feelings multiplied
Shared between two
One of which died
A mother couldn’t bear to see the other alone
Sent to the wild
She was sad to think where her son would be now
& all she could do was shut her eyes

By Maria Grujicic

This is a poem which is part of my collection
Poems That Touch A Soul.

This is a deeply personal poem that can also have meaning to you.
Comments are most welcome. :)

It Isn’t You

It’s OK to breathe
The wind will catch it and play
Don’t worry
I won’t misinterpret the indication it creates
It’s a symbol, a part of you
that anyone can manipulate
It isn’t you

By Maria Grujicic
December 2012

This is a poem part of my new collection, Poems That Touch The Soul. I titled the book this way because I am often told by people that my poems touch their soul. They do the same for mine as I write them and read them again and again.

I have a few more that I wrote and haven’t shared just yet, I haven’t had the courage to publish them on my blog.

Let me know if you’re a poet, what kind of poems do you like? I find most of my readers are anonymous. This is OK.
It takes courage to write, and honesty isn’t always the best way because it isn’t easy to write honestly when one is open to the unknown.

This is why I love deeply the simplicity of a poem.
A poem is like philosophy, open to interpretation. Or at least, this is my view. It has eternal, timeless and universal meaning to life. My poem, It Isn’t You illustrates this thought. Do you see it in the poem?



This is beautiful. I enjoyed it for the theme of dance, music and the scene that was set, and the French curls. The title is perfect.

Originally posted on maggiemaeijustsaythis:

Sunlight spills out over the sky
and I watch the women dance,
strings from Heaven attached to each limb,
red lips painted with French curls,

I love them so much.
I loathe them so much.

They lift off the ground with majestic beauty,
gliding from toe to toe.
They seem to sleep on clouds,
pretty ballerinas that Pas
around town.

In the library, they seat quiet children
who are stainless and educated from
high value,

they swim in holy water with
moulded figures sticking out and I drool
along with the men,

and I love them so much.
Oh! I loathe them so much.

They fall like pink snowflakes,
kissed with Latter Day sprinkles,
the daughters of God who walk on Earth
next to me, searching for my palms,
serving me with the grace that Sunday could bring
but I will not listen.

I cannot.
My ears have been cut from…

View original 47 more words

3 Sisters Live In The Shadows Gypsy Style

This is a poem I wrote after I saw a painting at a market, it reminded me of the relationship I have with my close friends.
Thank you for listening.

Now here’s the official video.
This is my first video experiment where I express my feelings through sound effects of the poem. These are the images I see in my head when I recall events, they aren’t the events themselves, they are thoughts and feelings. I know I can do better, so please be kind. :)

There’s something special about these sisters.

The poem is included in my poetry book, Sudden Clarity published by Fastpencil.


Gypsy Shoegazer No Voices Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0

This is my favourite piece.


Once upon a bright new day,
A sketch revealed
A place that spoke
A hug, A kiss
Was laid with hope
The air she felt
With undying hope
Parts caressed
To a place she met
Where hugs were made
And hopes were laid

‘Stop!’ She cried,
When her thoughts arrived
Sods and prods
Were unexplained
Though they stayed
In a place
That eventually spoke
Parts were fixed
Where dreams roamed free
She sketched a poem
And yearned for me
Eyes embraced
I walked away
As her thoughts awaited
For a brand new day.

By Maria Grujicic
Artist name, Malena

I haven’t been writing as many poems as usual because life is getting busy, I tell myself. But this isn’t very true. The truth is that I haven’t traveled since February and I have nothing much that inspires me in my surroundings at the moment. I have been working on a project idea, a picture book for children between 8 and 12. I have also been learning to draw. The poem I have written illustrates my wish for my renewed inspiration to come and perhaps inspiration to write will come through my new hobbies. Here are some of my sketches.

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Thanks for reading, and keep on dancing!

Words, once they are printed, have a life of their own. Carol Burnett

A Breath And A Poem

My beautiful poem.
You are like that blanket.
You are open to those who see.
Those who hear.
Those who listen to me.
It is how I have found my voice.
An audience.
Through my words will find it.
Will find my way.
My poem, it comes from within.
And inspired to grow.
With life and the intimate things I know.
I am inspired by it.
I like it.
I have an unconditional love for it.
I want to draw it.
The love for her is sweetly unexpected.
It is mild.
Like the heart of a child.
It breathes and grows.
In two worlds like the dolphin in the sea.
One breath above water for you and below it dwells for me.

By Maria Grujicic
*Artist name, Malena*

I found this poem in some notes I had for writing my novel. It was timely so because lately I seemed to have lost inspiration to write poetry. I’m not sure why… is it simply writer’s block, or do I need to shift myself to that space again where I was writing poetry?

My poems are like the breaths I take, and they do take on different forms, as I continue to create in my spare time. Feel free to share your views and opinions, and as always I’m thrilled when people like my posts.

Thank you for reading.

If the writing is honest it cannot be separated from the man who wrote it. Tennessee Williams