Sculptural, Graphical artworks & Poems

Archive for October, 2015


Love whiff

Autumn utters with
bee’s bumble songs,
photogenic iris recycles,
hungry gravity glides on
embroidered gender leaves,
follows meander of desires.

Inside horn blows
old songs. It’s breeze
lifts your hair to dance,
embraces your bow.
Chance prodigal boy
for romance.

Bail out nights
from arrest of days,
change frosted hours
with jingling coins of minutes.
Then organic words
coagulate on your lips.

Moon inverts to the Sun.
Amoebic joy of fun
curls and billows.
Like a sudden surge of rainbow.
To discover scented
flower petals of lovers.

Gyula Friewald © 02/11/2011

Viva Mexico

Viva Mexico,… Viva !!!

Diego Rivera: Dream of Sunday Afternoon in Almeda

Diego Rivera

Hairy legged dancer of the Latin circus,

on this honey dream  Sunday, idle.

Enough brush skating on the canvas.

Power, vanity game

empty skeleton´s fame.

myth guards their shame.

Fiesta wrapped in legends,

virgins, dwarfs, clowns salute them

with constipated ciudanos face.

Feudal bureaucrats germinate

in Mayan´s garden. The voodoo

rattle snake couldn’t escape the plate.

Power, vanity game

empty skeleton´s fame.

Myth guards their shame.

Mujeres dress like walking bells

topped with the jealousy hats

inside Diego´s puppets legs clang.

Power, vanity game

empty skeleton´s fame.

myth guards their shame.

Rocketing petards, mariachi

balloons of sensation sway,

Frida´s heart yin-yang.

The banker, the gendarme and

the wood winded veteran

Embroidered parade.

Power, vanity game

empty skeleton´s fame.

myth guards their shame.

The music box winded

Wooden winged vagabonds

limbs clap, clap….clap.

2. 9. 2013 Gyula Friewald©

Village walk in Spain

Village walk in Spain


I climb up from the valleys

follow the  path of donkeys.

My presence pursues the moments

as it croaks like a floundering bullfrog

in the mind’s stronghold.


The floating minute whistles casually,

weaves wreaths from wild flowers

and gently strokes my neck.

Vast, bright air flooding from the above,

the scented breeze ignores me.


I wobble on the ever winding lines of terraces

of these elegantly  resting female mountains.

Herds and swarms of cultures gathered

in these cupped hands like valleys and

disappeared in the drain hole of time.


Nobody wants to wake up from

the oozing garlic ornate dream.

They just repeat what is safe,

as the old told how to survive,

indeed,  good for their godly goats.


Their trance splits willow wood in my heart.



Gyula Friewald © 19/05/2013


Prime Perceptions


I see it, I hear it, I sense it.

If I remember – it’s memory.

If I understand – it’s mine.

If I hate it – it’s me.

If I dream it – I’m hooked.

If I forget it – I’m free.

If I’m free – I love.

If I love – I can’t see.

Gyula Friewald 20/3/13



Burst in with newborn’s cry
sweeps with wind of life,
wipes pastel blue sky.

March is on midwife sentry.
Annual tabula rasa for the baby,
green, buzzing plenty.

Sun kisses peachy buds.
Winter days thaws and floods,
frozen past sinks in muds.

Weather carnival shuffles,
through cycles of cuddles.
Night trickles in fat puddles.

Thoughts become pliant
under the cracks
of this fragile giant.

Gyula Friewald 13/02/13/2013