Photo by Ennio Dybeli

Sometimes different opinions might sound very foreign and even physically painful. However, engaging someone, like young Emily in this poem, could reveal a thoughtful insight into our own lives.

Thank You!

She is gravely ill.

Emily lived in the land of smiling people.
A country with no crime or sorrow
where people never rob but borrow.

In the land of law and order
many rules, and final judgment
drying with the haste
on yellow paper,
on top of the judge’s table.

Waiting lists and waiting lines,
empty eyes and soulless smiles.
Matching clothing
a never-changing topic,
like sour topping for a day.

Poor Emily,
all alone,
unable to experience,
the joy of smiling people all around her.

She is gravely ill.
A disease of the mind,
her doctors liked to say.
Forgotten feelings of sadness, anger,
wrap around her weary heart.

She keeps on questioning the rules,
while wearing her mismatched clothing,
bright like summer colors,
bringing the sun out from the plainest clouds,
above the smiling kingdom.

No one knows what really happened.
Disappeared in the dark or in colorful explosions,
expanding long horizons in the distance or simply buried in the cave.

Where is Emily?

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir


Any path that we desire to take, will eventually lead us to a parchment, opening a story, painting, or a scene.

Thank You!

We can push a heavy lid, and take a little peek.

Your passages and words
combine inside my beating heart,
constructing a tunnel of emotions,
a corridor with many doors.

Each door contains a heavy golden chest.
That gleaming safe protects the treasures,
cherished by the heart and soul.

It contains an old parchment scroll
filled with stories of adventure and ambition,
a path that we can take,
on this journey
through the time and weather outside.

We can push a heavy lid
and take a little peek.

a parchment paints a picture of one evening,
a caramel beach,
like a toffee for an eye,
sweetening the vision of life.

The perfect grains of sand
caressed by ocean waters,
reflecting rays of the setting sun,
filtering the image on the scroll
adding sleepy orange shade.

Another parchment tells a story
of the neon lights and busy streets.
Music, people, flashing signs,
so much life up in my sight.
It’s a story of a constant motion,
sometimes lacks a bit emotion.

Every parchment is a story,
very human and unique.
Unlock the door to read your tale,
what secrets can it tell?

Open your parchment.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir


In Norse mythology, Ragnarök is a series of events, including a great battle, foretold to lead to the death of a number of great figures, natural disasters and the submersion of the world in water. (Wikipedia)

Thank You!

Snow will hold a little while…”

Battle drums approaching close,
you can hear them through the water,
pulsating with each beat.

Tiny drop, so weak and insignificant alone,
slapping ocean on the surface,
giving birth to rings of shock,
expanding slowly in the distance.

Under rays of the unforgiving sun,
marble looking snow is melting,
plunging into waters.
It is unwilling to convert,
not yet ready to join the growing forces.

Snow will hold a little while,
struggling to protect its ancient form.
It will eventually dissolve,
pushing edges further inland,
centimeter at the time.

Crow landing on the old tree branch,
eyes the color of the inner wine.
It’s glancing at the feasting men,
calling them
it’s time.

Crysis on the land,
famine, war, disasters of the nature,
clash of culture and religion.
The sky is covered with smog,
hiding stars behind its curtain.

Old snake is running out of poison,
rusty chains are giving way…
Battle drums are nearer with each beat,
just look at the surface of the water.

Have you seen the crow?

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

The Climb.

Photo by Martin Adams

Enjoy the climb!

Thank You!

Feathers turn to ice.

Bright banner waving proudly
over the snowy mountain peak.
It’s shining like a golden beacon,
illuminating path that’s bleak.

This climb is treacherous and deadly,
cold licking frozen skin,
piercing with the thorns of ice,
cutting deep towards the warmness of the flesh,
devouring precious heat,
leaving nothing for dessert.

Those headless winds,
always rushing to someplace,
swinging tiny body in the air,
like some pendulum for ancient clock.

Feathers turn to ice.
Wings, like some heavyweights
pulling closer to rocks.

No cheating over here,
only real courage and the spirit,
forcing muscles to comply.

Reach the top.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

Spirit Flame.

That light shines in all of us. The main objective is too keep adding fuel, so it will not extinguish before it’s time.

Thank You!

Search for the key, hidden well inside the mind.”

So light,
like a tiny feather of the dove.

Spirit travels through the realms of sky above
in a quest to find freedom,
for a mind and body down below.

In a maze of vessels in the heart,
the flame of spirit,
bounces with each beat,
invading pathways and the tunnels,
melting down the solid frost
created by the darkness of the fear.

The winds of life are challenging the spirit flame,
blowing at it
with whole might,
opinions, rejections,
a whole snowstorm of depression,
spiked with the poison of a lie.

Search for the key,
hidden well inside the mind.
It unlocks the heavy door,
heading straight towards the flame.
Add some fuel to its core,
a couple of logs, few branches to its side.

No task extinguishing the tiny candle,
try taking out a wildfire,
armed by melting snowflakes of rejection.

Keep the light on

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

Angry Storm.

If a boat voyage can be compared to the journey of life then, we can compare the sea storm to an unexpected life event that sends our life on a different trajectory.

Thank You!

The boat can’t handle any longer.

A wall of living rain,
divided peace and storm,
separating life and struggle,
into contrasting realms of nature,
ruled over by the children of the same parent.

The black, deep waters,
underneath a thin sheet of foreign wood,
boiled in anger,
disgusted by the tiny boat,
like it’s some insect in the soup.

The rain kept falling,
on top of wild, salty waters.
It’s threatening to fill the ocean up,
until the roof of the sky,
drowning breathing creatures.

The boat can’t handle any longer.
Its captain lays quietly on deck,
face soaked in freezing water,
fate sealed by the power of the wind.

The vessel makes its last attempt,
to fly away from the angry storm,
but crashes loudly,
against the monument of stone,
sharp edges to the side.

Even something grand as a powerful storm has its timely end.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir

Milky Pearl.

Photo by Yeshi Kangrang 

Adore and cherish that milky pearl, inside the soul of your loved ones.

Thank You!

so beautiful, yet small.

I sail towards the comfort of your arms,
your hands resemble harbor,
and my essence,
a broken ship,
with sails in the color of the sunset.

We celebrate and feast,
throughout the night.

Your soul
like a milky pearl,
so beautiful, yet small.

Invisible to the naked eye,
wrapped inside a stony shell,
protected from the ones that mean you harm.

I can not complain or whisper,
like before,
on top of the ladder
at the sky,
for the sad fate of every day.

This tiny, little pearl
is the answer to the questions,
and a riddle
ready to be solved.

Milky pearl.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir


Photo by Jassy Onyae

The realm of imagination and exploration is truly endless

Thank You!

Buried deep, underneath the waters of mind’s ocean.

A silent dreamer,
Jumping into the image on the wall,
Gliding through the realms of his imagination.

Those dimensions packed carefully with love,
Locked safely with key,
Buried deep,
Underneath the waters of mind’s ocean.

The vastness of possibilities and outcomes,
Intoxicates the eyes,
Thirsty for exploration, knowledge.

You can almost feel the flavor of the air,
Twisting around the tip of the tongue.
Bouquet of wine with honor,
Wildflowers flourishing with each sip.

The only boundaries for a dreamer,
are the edges of the frame.

Taste the possibilities.


Flickering Flame.

Photo by Paul Bulai

A tiny flame from a simple candle gives life to stories locked inside the mind and soul.

Thank You!

Ink spills against papyrus.

A thin and fragile,
Blade of warmth,
Flickering against the wind,
Leaving lengthy shadow, dancing on the wall.

Smoke inside my chest,
Leaving body,
Directed by the sound of a heart,
Reflected by the vessel of the blood.

Ink spills against papyrus,
Words combine in tango,
Searching for the companion to match.

He broke his promise,
Busy running after shadow,
Visible, yet impossible to touch.

Promised will be back,
When the sun will kiss goodbye,
For the last time.

She is running from the error of his ways,
Exploring endless desert packed with mountains of sin.
Primal language of this planet,
Imprinted with the mark of the galaxy above.

Fragile flame froze still,
Standing upright for the last time,
Before evaporating into the thinnest string of smoke.

Tiny flame illuminating the story.

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir


We often view stability and order as things positive and correct. Rightly so, but too much of it has brought us down, too many times before.

Thank You!

Clock pushes heavy burden of the time.

Bolts and screws,
Twist and turn
In a hellish dance,
Accompanied by the rattle of the metal snake.

Measured distance,
A drop of oil,
Ticking sound on the wall below.
Clock pushes heavy burden of the time,
Like some endless tornado,
Never staying in one place.

A line that never falters,
A perfect box, dimensions in the chart,
Ideal dungeon for the dreams, imagination.

It brings machines alive,
Wakes up humans with a bang,
When they sleep for far too long.

Unbind and release imagination wild .

Please let me know what you think of the poem on Twitter @FischerVladimir