Tuesday, 15 December 2020

Clueless and vice versa

*

To understand that 

what you comprehend

as to truly see 

that what you look at

or to hear 

without listening

*

Like sensing 

without a smell

and feeling 

without a touch

*

And while you are seeing 

these written words 

you look at

*

Have you truly listened 

and sensed the words

these that I touched

*

and surmised or felt  

what I meant to say

*

Do you comprehend

the message

do you understand

the poetry

*

And do you think it matters

and do you think I care

*

You're clueless and know it's vice versa



© 2020-12-15


Monday, 7 December 2020

Tear It Down, John, Tear It All Down.


What perfection has man created


Where once priests served out 

the church's absolution

to all that bowed and paid

and now a devil's lackey sprinkles

with presidential pardons 

for his offspring and his toadies


What perfection has man created


Where governments economize

on housing, on caring for the needy

but never on privileges for the greedy

and condemn a disturbed homeless 

when he, left to his own devices, drives  

his metal home into a shopping crowd


What perfection has man created


Where we must pray to a distant God

for benevolence, mercy and charity

because these values no longer

exist in the heart of fellow man

-or did they ever-

but for some altruistic few


What perfection has man created


Where clemency will be a single trip to Mars

to fence off a future corporate patronage

of either mandatory consumer prodigality 

to support the cashing in of shareholders

or starve as cheap enforced self-employment 

for simple slaves are considered to costly to keep


What perfection has man created


Where we party on in corona-proof omnibuses

where we fly budgeted all over to forget ourselves

where we step uncaring over every  'shadow'  fallen

where we donate pittance to charity as a tax purpose  

where 'peace on earth' has degraded to 'feast on earth'

where those that truly try to do good are as rare as saints


What perfection has man created


Where one just worries about the Koala, the Gorilla, the Whale..  

...and understands and forgives the absence of the Omnipresent 

for neither of them see reason to stay, return to or safe this society

as they die a little with each innocent death of man, animal or plant

both fled in cocooning while they welcome the holy in their sanctuary

and all those weary saints and angels who belong to the realm of death 



© 2020-12-05



Note from the author.

Yes, I know there are still millions 

and millions of good, honest people

but it's these billions and billions

of others we've got to loose!!



Tuesday, 1 December 2020

On centers of love

 *

I was born in the North

of the center 

of the world, Mokum.

My first year of life

in the house

of my grandparents.

As I was the center

of their world

and they of mine.

And now I live 

in the center

of the continent.

Where she is as always

my whole world 

and we're each other's center.

*


© 2020-11-22





While winter's coming

*

When he entered the kitchen his wife, 

cooking a classical Minestrone soup,

laughed as she told him that he looked

like a red cheeked, cheeky garden gnome.

*

He kissed her fondly with half frozen lips 

told her he had worked in the garden

distributing the fallen leaves from

halfnaked trees over the soil

between the rimy plants.

*

The day before he had decorated

-according to her wishes-

some of the trees and bushes 

with strings of bird feeds.

*

Slowly the sun brushed through

the clouds and melted the frost

from the roof tiles as they heard

the soft dripping in the rain gutter.

*

They smiled as warmly 

at each other

as it was warm inside

their home

and their hearts.

*



© 2020-12-01

 

Neniu superas

 *

Equal to none

None the better

Yet none unequal

*



© 2020-12-01


Where we write and pen

 *

Where Yevtushenko wrote on

the face behind the face

*

And Rushdie penned of

the mask behind the mask

*

It is the I that speaks of

the eyes behind the eyes

*

Just to quote no one but

the plural I behind the I 

*

As we're just no more than

the nothing behind the nothing

*



© 2020-11-25



Thursday, 19 November 2020

Are You One

 

Events fade out

but some

-like people-

they linger


© 2020june01



Continuation


....but some few 

poets and prophets

as poets can be artists

and prophets can be poets

where some can even be both


Dabo tria exempla

Like Isaiah in chapter 35

as Saul in 1.Corinthians 13

like Muhammad in Surah 89 



© 2020november20


The Fall (Into Heaven)

 *

Since my fall 

into his heaven

i walk this earth

seeing differently

*

My heart is heavy

for a future to come

but my tread is light

as I walk in his steps

*

I picked up the cross

that he had left behind

as it lightened the weight

on my path to Gethsemane

*



© 2020-11-18





Sunday, 1 November 2020

Aram - son of the sun.

*

I dug a hole in the ground six feet deep, yet

it was not just in the soil but in me i buried you

*

In your death part of me died too and while i interred you 

deep in me, i shoveled dust and earth up to six feet high 

in the hollow that was beaten in my psyche by your demise

*

I entombed my spirit in your death as i lost my right to love

that now lies planted a mere six feet deep in sacred soil

hallowed for you lie there, with my afflicted soul at your side

*


© 2020-11-01


A flame observed. Three lined brevity.

 *

The light of a candle can bridge

the same distance as a supernova

it just takes a keen eye to notice

*


© 2020-11-01


Wednesday, 28 October 2020

Wrinkled barrens


When i ran 
to you
it started to rain

now

when i walked
from you
i started to cry


When i rained tears
through wrinkled barrens
salty rivers meandered

as

When i wept ice flakes
flows of glaze on dried lands
slowly submerged my tear


When i drowned

in you


like         


una lamentación 

oye, how i wailed, oye


si


When i miscarried

in me


Oye, todo sobre mi muerte






© 2020-10-28





Saturday, 24 October 2020

Know the Now

 

Love

*

Now that you are 

finally

here in the know

*

You

*

Know that you are

finally

here in the now

*

Love



© 2020-10-21

I Am Only Love Now

 *

Only Now I Am Love

*

I left all knowledge

to a past

not to be remembered

*

I referred all pain

to a future

never to be reached

*

I have no use for either

in a present

Since I am in a now

forever with you

*

Love I Am Only Now

*

Serene - perfectly calm

Silent - no need to speak

At peace - no want to hate

Distant - no reason to engage

Close - to myself and the Eternal

Care - for who bestow mercy and bliss

Compassion - for the innocent and seekers

Joy - and even that has become unnecessary

*

Now I Am Only Love

*




  © 2020-10-24





Tuesday, 13 October 2020

Is your thirst big enough....


Something cryptic

that is just

amongst mystics


Between skeptics

be careful my friend

what you wish for


Suppose you're granted

the craved knowledge 

you so badly want


And in return have to live

those thousand dire lives after

that one life in the know


Maybe then you'll scream

every other lifetime as I did

when my brain opened up


Why, why was I gifted

with all knowledge 

and not fully free to use 



© 2020-10-13




Monday, 12 October 2020

Somewhere between Shams and Rumi


On Hassan's quote


You caressed me  

with ease from hardship

as I'd lapsed into anger

in a rage, in a storm of fury 

arisen out of love

Out of hurt that love was

rejected or ne'er sought

by souls that were not

and claimed still

forgiveness for atrocities

and none for others.

The non-souls

slaying prophets

stoning messengers

scourging redeemers

for they hate

what they don't understand

as they expel 

love for they do not have.

You hit me, indeed

there is ease with hardship

you reproached me with love

and so I bowed and embraced it


Again.


© 2020-10-12




 









Saturday, 26 September 2020

At the end of atonement

*

This time

    he knew

This time

    he'd come

This time

    to behold

*

To be and to hold

*

Not to pass judgment

Not to rule, not to fight

Not you, not even hisself

*

And in his dream

he contemplated

on atonement

when the mother

hurriedly entered the room

where he was evading

rowdy family life

She, the mother,

forcefully put it shut

followed by an exclaim

of hurt, of pain 

by the mother's brother

as he saw the man's fingers

caught and crushed 

between door and frame 

suddenly it were the fingers

of a toddler -petite-

pushing mother aside

he freed the little fingers

of the before cross brother

there was no more rage

but the hurt of a child

babbling injuredly

in a language he didn't speak

the fingers whole, not hurt

but he understood just the same

he comforted the man-child

soothing the hurt by the mother

locking out, wounding him

and there he forgave the brother

his anger, awakening his soul

as he lay open his chest 

and the dream then told him

*

This time

    you're in the know

        to forgive

This time

    you'll conquer rage

        to comfort

This time

    forgive and comfort

        fools and by that me

*



© 2020-09-25







Wednesday, 23 September 2020

As i never witnessed her face

.

Her ancient beauty

wells the flower

she hides inside

her one vice 

loving fast cars

but who am i who

to retort on that

where i drive

easily too fast 

and out of lane

.

She said she felt my pain

she felt the pain of the mother

but did she feel the booth

in her neck

of our brother

the pain of the mother

as a mother

she could feel

and she replied

what is next....

.

It takes empathy

to be compassionate

but can she go beyond

i repeled by saying

well it's a start....

where i shouldn't've

i just wanted 

to push her beyond

her ripened beauty

sweetest desert flower

.


Triggered by the comments of and therefore dedicated to the poetess Willene.... 


© 2020sept09






Why I live abroad -again- she sailed off

 .

She would never

set foot on land -again-

and sailed away

.

As I would never

feel at home -again-

living on foreign soil

.

She would speak

to seagulls and dolphins

and expect no reply

.

As I would speak

to locals and natives

and not be understood

.

Both of us knew

for different reasons

we preferred to dissent

.

Voluntarily exiled -again-

awaiting the winds of change

that would blow their minds

.



© 2020sept23



If not already someone's....

.

When he was 

young

he scribbled

lyrical and lyrics 

after his father

had read 

and understood

the words and worries

he offered

freely to publish 

the collection

of this son

.

Yet this son 

assessing his works

declined gently

and then changed

course

not dropping out

but ignoring

brush and pen

for years

in favour of

gainings

and position

.

As time aged

so did he

retiring early

free from want

and weight

lifting a brush

wielding his pen

searching for

talented kindred

some able to

write

their heart out

.

Children

of someone

that could

write so exquisitely

pungent perhaps

even cruel

genius recognized

endowment

he would adopt

these adepts

if not already

someone's

.

Yet even better still

from experience

he'd learned

let them be

their own

as I am

.





© 2020sept09 - 2020nov13





Wednesday, 16 September 2020

A concentration of flashbacks

*

Also for my late friend Thomas O.

*

Once 

i was

and once

he was a human being

now 

he's thorn apart

though 

he's just the second generation

he's still a victim of crimes done

Barbed wire fences

the volts burn into his brain

the smell of corpses

every now and then 

it hits (back) 

again - 

he's surrounded by fences.

Flashbacks

though he wasn't even there.

*

Dream 

he's running

in a dream

travelling fast and slow

by train

like sheep to the slaughter

he's a sheep

left....right

death or survival

once 

he was a human being

The smell of gas 

the smell of death

the overcrowded barracks

barbed wire fences

he runs and runs

he touches the wires

the volts burn my brain

i cry myself awake

he's thorn apart

second generation

victim of evil

once 

he too was 

a human being

*



© 1983Oct23 - 2020Sept16



Triggered and inspired by some of my nightmares as a child and the book of Primo Levi.





  

The Bird House


The village farmhouse
was build with an outside
gallery and a roofed terrace

The couple that lived
in it were such that 
given the opportunity
they would act on or
gladly offer the gift of
a small kindness

The people saw 
the swallows fly in
searching for a place
to nest a new home

Near the entrance
under
the roofed terrace
was 
a convex lamp
and that
decided the swallows
would be the base
for their nest

The man and wife
welcomed the swallows
and saw the birds
building their nest
on the white glass ball
with mud and twigs

The people in the house
watched with care
the work and lives
of all the smaller wildlife
in their courtyard

The couple stopped 
using the lamp 
as it had now become
a swallow's home
while
their indoor cats too
watched with interest
from behind the glass

Yet there was
one threat
for the two birds
and their nest
it was one of their own
another swallow
that flew in to disturb
the peace
under the roofed terrace

The couple in the house
looked at the fight
and the flight 
to and fro
they -too- worried
for the eggs
in the nest and
thinking that nature
sometimes resembled
once too often 
human life

But -also- wondered
the people
on the third swallow
wether it was to be hated
for trying to join
the couple on the nest
or to be pitied
for not being included
by the couple
on the nest

The people 
in the house recalled 
some stories 
of old
of Adam and Eve 
and
a snake and an apple
and
of Cain and Abel
the fighting brothers
and
of Sarai and Hagar
the quarrelling mothers
and 
the couple wondered
if there was
any resemblance 
with 
being kicked out 
of paradise....












Saturday, 12 September 2020

Teenage rhymes; the rage of a student in one wave.

.

.. ding dong / cling clong / so confused / i know about tomorrow / is there a tomorrow / circulation bloodstains run upstream / get up steam / ocean runner / walk on air bubbles / miles from shore away from troubles / paintings talk across the border / we all know that we ought to / talk / in riddles instead of rhymes / because so says the Financial Times / perspective / think i lost all / my feathers / down i fall / deeper than the ocean runner / diving in the freetrade zone / when we all are free / from blindness / will we still nill we still / sad eyed lady body heath is your profession / twenty bucks a session / the clouds snowy white in a purple sky / when you were / shot on sight / radioactivity gave you that karma / now killed by industrial pharma / your skin / peel it off / sunlotion / do the frying pan locomotion / chucklehead you're now *prime minister* / guess it's getting rather sinister / but the publicist was not impressed / the fox wanted action / needed mayhem / loved gossip / despised any other coloured race / that's why they praised him / he who would press the button / for that was something / yeah / something really new / their report on the launched missiles was top news / well at least it was some news / but now we're dead....


© 1983-05-20


* prime minister can also be read as president*


Note 2020-09-13: With a president such as this creature in the USA, corrupt prime ministers in the UK and Israel and the current rulers in China, India, Russia, Turkey, the Arabic peninsula, Brasil, shall I continue (?), I thought publication in 2020 of this old lampoon does make sense....

 

 

Friday, 4 September 2020

A Black Hole


I know nothing

  not a thing of you

As i know nothing

  not a thing of worlds 


I know nothing

  not a thing of inside 

As i know nothing

  not a thing of outside


I know nothing

  not a thing of a life 

As i know nothing

  not a thing of the living


I know nothing

  not a thing of want

As i know nothing

  not a thing of worth


I know nothing

  not a thing of nothing

As i know nothing

  not a thing of nonbeing



© 2020sep03.


When sleep is never ever grey; the bedtime stories (Grey).

 

Well now, 

my bene elohim

I promised you a story.


This one is 

from the book of 

great expectations,

a fairytale collection,

from the sons of sons.


It is rather prosaic, but, well, just listen.... 


"

Look, look, 

an opening, 

to heaven.


Between the gray grey mass of clouds 

a small blue aperture to the light. 

Slowly this inlet too was blocked.


There appears to be no way out, 

the young one thought gloomy.

Although, 

when he focused less on that one narrow crack 

and searched the skies on the left, 

he saw there too heavenly blue.


After a brief while 

that path too 

was cut off by the grey, 

but that first inlet 

to which he intuitively had sent his will 

was still present. 

Tiny but there. 

Straight in front of him.

As if El had not yet written him off. 

Still extant in the book of books.

An odd and nervous calm descended upon him. 

But for a miniscule opening 

heaven was completely closed 

to him by the gray and grey. 

Still he realized 

that behind that veil 

the light was ever present.


Despite his understanding 

and foreknowledge, 

his future was him obscure. 

That, that what he wanted 

and, what he momentarily did 

was not congruent.

That only what he pretended 

to want went rather succesfully.

In short, a brilliant career 

and future in society.

But just that distressed him

for he knew 

in his heart of hearts 

that he wanted to

and was supposed to 

do something else.


Anguish, 

he felt so often.

And he wanted out

but where to and how.

Meanwhile

the whole sky had turned

to somber grey.


He wondered

to what extent he

himself was liable,

while he saw no way

out, well not yet....,

that his fear

and reluctance

for his current future

smudged the skies grey.


He knew 

that tomorrow

he would

....or the day after....

he would

delude himself

he would,

but ever aware

of the guile,

feign happiness

or at least contentment

with his more than less

successful li(f)e.


Meantime it had even started to snow.


His heart yearned

for a sign -from Shalom-.

And....

he thought honestly

Lailah at his side

who would endorse

his uprising

against the status quo.

No...., more than that,

she would welcome

his insurgence.


He wanted out

out of a homeland

out of the old worlds

out of himself mainly....

to where it began

to the universe

or anywhere.


He wanted 

thát

right now

for which he

was destined

And,

just as he thought

anxiously

that just maybe

his destiny

was his current li(f)e,

he saw 

light and blue

on the horizon.


Part of the grey dissipated....


He calmed down

again

and he knew

that the last 

panicky thought

would not become

true....!?....


Slowly his calm mixed 

with a sense of love 

and he thanked Elah.


That only

with which he 

kept on struggling 

was

the when the how the where.


The strength in him

and the reassuring

eternal presence 

of HaShem

kept him up

....where others

had fallen....


Ah yes, he even felt sorry for the Fallen....


He pondered

that his initiation 

and reaching 

the seventh step

complicated 

an earthly and social li(f)e.


No, it made it, in fact, impossible.


He wondered therefore 

how long 

he would have to stand out

being grey.

"


And with that, my little brethren, 

this chapter of his li(f)e ends.

Yet it does have a sequel.

But that's another 

bedtime tale.


Say your prayers, colour your dreams,

waltz in and do your deeds of emancipation....

Good night.




© 03 Nov. 1984 - 03 Sep. 2020







Xmas '84 Orwell's eve.

 


I have given 

my life

on a dark

but blessed eve


I painted the fiery painting black

to conceal the truth 

that none would understand

except He and I


And tears ran down my cheeks

as I tore out my heart and

offered it to my hunger

for His dazzling love




© 1984dec24.





Friday, 28 August 2020

A day with no name

 

The only thing

that keeps surprising me

is that so many people

are -still- astounded

that 

the devil 

and his demons

that

they lie

they cheat

they hate

they rape

they murder

they torture

the kind

the innocent

the loving children

of any race

of any creed

of any colour

So

Go out 

and vote

Go out 

and fight

Go out 

against the evil 

and

side with the angels


 

© 2020-08-28




The 57th March


Again a Rome's burning

skins charred black

of many a righteous

bullied by the legion


She wearily marched 

the fifty seven steps

up the capitol altar

of law enforcement


There the mother saw

a just brother bent

at the oppressive boot

of a state trooper


The blue legionnaire 

posing as a sheriff

held up his whip

trumpling* on his betters


The showcase Caesar

put down his thumb 

while flashing a grin

ordering thirty nine lashes


There the mother saw 

the scourge lashing out 

on those already burned

her scars bled fuzz blue


As the Republican mob

cheered and hailed

the lethiferous lashes

at the children of a King


Yet from far and above

the True and Ultimate

watched this great divide

on earth counter to heaven


The Eternal sighed

¡ Vote !

¡ March !

¡ Protest !

¡ Overcome !

¡ As on earth !

¡ As in heaven !





*

Yes, I know it is `trampling´ but given current times I think `trumpling´ is more fitting.



© 2020-08-28



Friday, 21 August 2020

The Trump Twit That Tweets

 


To Q-Anon and other deplorables

This unprecedented unpresidential may scare his offspring

But even Melania mocks him


©️

Wednesday, 19 August 2020

Not on skin, not on gender; the bedtime stories (White).


Very well children, 

I will read you a bedtime story.

And with that I picked up the book 

of colourless and genderless fairytales.


White. 

Everything is white. 

The picture on the wall, 

the room in his mind. 

Only his life 

seems to be black, 

white and grey.

Like a wounded animal 

they shut themselves, 

He him, 

out.


Lock out from what? 

Is there at all 

something 

worth 

to prevent being excluded.

He shouts 

at the empty 

whiteness.


White, 

He whispers to his love. 

Regretttably, 

he fears, 

she too can only think grey.


The lecherous greyness 

of the masses, 

o how he detests it, 

he calls 

silently 

at his gray love.

His naked love says: 

you're mad, my archangel, 

what do you mean by white?


Well, 

what does he mean 

by white. 

White, 

he wispers, 

white is white 

and 

white is as a blank page, 

virginal white for the eye 

but 

already tarnished 

or 

stained with grey. 

I'm looking 

for the true 

primordial white. 

The white 

that stands for 

innocense and liberty, 

where I can 

let the idle defenseless children 

of my imagination roam smoothly. 

White is not a colour, 

he concludes deeply.


Without any trouble 

or remorse 

he just shut out

his grey naked love. 

Black 

he is now, 

black 

to preserve 

the white. 

To prevent 

that the grey 

of his love 

affects 

his precious white.


White, 

they whisper 

smiling at each other. 

Her smile 

that of incomprehension 

but full of love 

that accepts his insanity. 

His smile 

that of betrayal 

and loneliness. 


Quietly they huddle 

against each other.

Just before 

his naked love 

falls asleep

he hears her 

breathe: 

tomorrow, tomorrow 

I will try 

to be white for you. 

And he realizes, 

in a wave of clarity 

through his own gray 

delusional world,

that his only love 

is already white.


And so 

my children

ends this fairytale.

maybe next time I will

read you a story on grey

and later or before on black.


For now 

I wish you 

a quiet night 

full of love

and of sleep.



© Oct. 1985 - Aug. 2020