04 Jun Poems
~ Spiral ~
‘…why dim, when in awe,
don’t you know,
for half flight, the license for sky might withdraw,
that flutter…you too, live in a bird,
not bound to the shore’…
in ambrosial soar and thunderous chants,
as still as in some of my cells,
as wild as in all of the others.
But it’s gotten so late!
A smile – Why write, then?
…but you march…judiciously…
…and the smell of last week’s cigarette through the doorway,
from the ex-angel neighbour…
…and even cousin-in-law Descartes grows steadily silent…
I know angels and bounty of reasoning shade.
doors will be fixed and skylights will break.
~ Is ~
And then, because it’s finally time, you see how you commanded your even tone, your rhythm even, your silence even,
to carve it all in the play of impassable,
and termed it detachment.
There’s just smiling.
Which game is more playable?
And ooh…the spring-coloured leaves in front of your window, in the Christmassy world!…
The smaller screen also reminds you that too long ago, on that other solstice, you decided to pause in the run, for the beauty.
So you’re paused.
There’s just melting.
For how long can somebody melt in the sky?
Yes, between you and the layer of your warm, cosy home, no distance, that is why you don’t mind where you land,
then the layer of the trees and the layer of the clouds,
and The Sun,
knowing you might not even display these words.
There’s just writing.
~~ I know ~~
When I look at you, really look,
I know that you shrouded some aeons ago.
why still strive for ongoing endings?
I’ve seen them,
the hordes of angels
dancing on the tip of your nose,
the blazing flames in your eyes,
and the galaxies in your solar plexus
blasting into Christmas decorations.
why still dwell in forever endings?
~~ By the fire ~~
Sit, sit, I’ll make you a cocoa.
We have linden this week,
It dried since you brought it, last time,
Are you cold, from the road?
Sit, sit by the fire.
I’ll be back,
with a lamp and some pie.
And this time,
if you want,
we can try
to maybe untie the armour of town
and the knot of that you.
And if not,
you just sit,
close your eyes.
I’ll be soon with a lamp and some pie.
You prayed for home…
so many times…
and walked alone for more than many…
Just take my hand,
you know the way.
It’s in the answer.
In the drive, you know…
in the detour,
in bliss, in pain,
in less, in more,
in wanting and reject.
It’s in the touch
In the apple pies.
You surely feel, don’t you?
You’re being silly.
it’s in silliness, too!
In heart smile.
Our verbness is you.
Did you ever want to lie on the ground,
until you become grass and are inhabited by grasshoppers?
Until and after they hop on you?
To ardently lie,
until the roots of your neighbours make love with the cage of your ribs?
Did you want to be a mushroom, to be travelled by wind?
to be home again and then home anew,
until you arrive in the embrace
of the eye and its storm?
~~ Beginning ~~
It’s dusk and the neighbours on top of my roof
next door, cars roar,
my brainmates still waft
like the snow in a ball.
And I begin to see,
is again made of time.
So I start unpacking the noise in the street and the dimness in the sky,
to travel abroad this box
And I begin to ignore
the phantom of re-,
~~ God’s confession ~~
Poetry always walks with me.
When we became the world and all there is,
we both agreed
to never fully merge in one and die.
In the beginning, there was poetry
and in the end, there’s still
My wife and I.
~~ Twilight ~~
Then, in a flash, I drifted,
reshaped forever by the excellence of you
Later that dusk I’ve seen,
along with all the other paths, the path that’s straight had vanished
The gravity collapsed; the time imploded.
I was just soaring.
And further still,
‘It’s I, let’s play’.
~~ Decision ~~
When too sad,
not to word.
Clean windows, weed concepts, spin in the attic with Sufis and Gods;
they know there’s less in the sadness than it is in the sight.
Heartache, not to be carved in eternal anew.
The song of this siren, not to be hummed to the novice,
nor the roaring that burns what’s not fire within.
Agony acme is only assigned to a few.
When in dark, not to word.
~~ Know ~~
on the crests the air is rare.
Most peaks are not designed for over-breathing
nor many other kinds of over.
yet do know,
only for dwellers, waltzing is possible, there.
the crests are too high,
but for some, they are only first halts on the way.
They are barren of people, but brimming with lustre
and after some visits,
the yearn is to fly.
On the fringe,
by the sky,
to be walked just with grace,
on the crests of the Earth,
do know of this place.
~~ Looking ~~
Have any of you lost a dragon?
he was wet from the rain when I found him,
he gets easily wet because he grows fur now, to better blend in,
and he said that he walked for too long,
mainly during the nights, not to be seen.
But his wings are almost healed now.
He seems very young, maybe less than a thousand or so,
I know because he didn’t yet learn the tricks of this world.
He doesn’t remember much,
but he remembers making you glow.
If you live again, in this time, know that he’s here.
For a while,
he moved near me, by the sea.