the story whisperer

I will finish my story

and leave….

into the mist….

my story….turned wind

of whisper….

I will finish my story

and leave into the mist

my story turned wind of whisper

gently told to my grandchildren

at bedtime…..

the whisper of words

whistled by the wind

into the ears

of sleeping kin


Melbourne/July 2015

the search

i can’t find my music

my words i found

my music is hiding

inside my head

i put it there myself

when i was a child

i used to sing

shower melodies

the sunrise dew

the tones of steamy summer

the bells of childhood Sundays

dancing to tapes

they told me

i howled

screeched like a razor on glass


buzzed like a water pipe

i locked my music away

into the cellar of my mind

into the deep pond

of discarded thoughts


i can’t find my music

the words found an escape

from  my weed-overgrown soul

the music is still searching

for a hole to come through

ellina zipman


To Write or Not To Write

To Write or Not to Write

That is the Question.

Shakespearean Man has asked that

Once before

To Pour Love and Hate on Pages

Or never mention

That Thing that Bleeds inside

While it atones

Who says you’ve only one chance

To state your business

Who’ll estimate your tryings till the end

To cut it open all

And listen

To dripping words

That heart to mend


Melbourne/Ellina Zipman

On a point of inspiration

I wrote a poem in five minutes. In the car. While waiting to pick up my daughter from school. Then, at home, I entered ten poems into a poetry competition.  The judges chose the five minute one. I was surprised. I didn’t consider it that good.  I thought the others, that were worked on for weeks, edited and polished, were much better choices.
This begs a question. Should I have not worked so hard on the poems that were rejected?  Should I have waited for that perfect poem to come to my mind and illuminate me with its brilliance?
Yet, it is not as simple as that.
That perfect poem was brewing in my head for years before it was ready to come to the surface; a baby growing in the womb for months and shooting out fast when its time has come.

Writing about writing

This is a blog about writing. Plenty has been said about this matter by others. Still, I have something more to say. Maybe the same. Maybe different. I can’t keep the words to myself, guarding them like treasures. I want to share my thoughts and my passion. You have your own passion, I am sure. Perhaps, we can blend them together, changing the taste and the spice.