Hi nasty sweetheart, not a day without a prayer for your death. I guess that you, by now, have a great time, when I, locked in my flat, can only watch tv. Dumped is the word, I smell. For a whole week
With a final drive words open and split when they sap the long winding path to the heart. She'd purge her sins and fix them in daisy chains, whereas his wild roses would fade aspiring
You and me, we both are born tight-rope walkers balancing the act of living precariously. We are trained to look upwards towards the blue sky and the airiness of being. One glance downwards could annihilate and
She took a large sheet of white paper and on this she made the world a hospital with rows of beds and corridors and she painted two nurses running between the patients and a doctor in a floppy white coat
He came down for Christmas eagerly awaited by both, dumb to each other for years but resounding for him, their very own City boy. They swaddled him in praise, stroked his ego, him, love-soaked, befuddled,
I dreamt of you as a wishing well that dried, not one with an old bucket and a crumbling wall, more like that fountain that you find in Rome but saw it empty, derelict, exposed,
Do you not sense the autumn wind that falls across your grave in sighs, bereft of breath, to mourn a second time your death? Will winter's freeze break up my frozen heart to smithereens with its sharp biting chill?
After he has given me grief that ran rampant, ran a rage I need mending, borrowing something something muted, something to settle blame on. I'll go to the lake, listen to the strong wind,
“After his death” he says, “the prophecy will come true, Slaughter of all whites within seven weeks.”
Dust on the surface - colourless the thought, no more for eyes ' sound which like deeper ears hears us who cannot rise, alone the inner voice out in the open, charcoal of despair, deep lines it scrawls
Give me all the files to your heart so I can use my spy ware skill's, scan your system with the tools of my intuition to get all the tell-tale signs after items processed, the results of infections found.
Wind connects to Spirit, to the Universe all that is love, whole, for as the wind blows and no one knows where it came from or where it goes, so is Spirit, force of the Universe
And so we lived and took in signs and grew. And so we died, before we even knew. The little time we had, we hardly tasted. The years that came and went were mostly wasted.
As the transient wind, as the escaping smoke, when many stay content I must rise into other fateful destinies, spill myself out when the ghost of the transitory goes right through us anxious receivers,
At last I knew what the oak tree knows. My blood ran slower, my hair fell lankier and as the flowers in my basket withered, happiness spilled out, fell from my eyes like acorns. My hunger ebbed away, my throat tightened,
Athena , goddess, spread your mind and throw your wisdom over me! Look at me with your painted eyes and bless my soul eternally! I run from Momus,...
Ah, those emerald ephemeral days, they pass with seasons! The early autumn months where greens have reason to convert to gold. A trace of blood imbues the speckled scene with thought like dabbled shades of sadness,
He sent shudders out around them. His face was wrinkled and thin. His nose had a pink and white stripe, and his arms hit the bars with a swipe to reach out of the gaps with his hands, that were hairy and long, and he showed
A little crumb here and there he picked up wherever he found hope. He swore to cope, not getting under heaps of rotting luck, or being sucked into...
The clasp of winter turns you cold, now tucks you under sheets of ice. The King of Freeze, glassy and old, now holds you captive to his vice. He ripped the colours you once wore, the pink of heaven, applegold.
I am plunged , head on, into the void until only a wisp of the moon remains. Wrapped up to the chin in my duvet, I fly except for one eye that I left in a flurry. I lift the other one towards the black. My ears
He stands a shaggy patchwork quilt on short feathery legs, his voice hoarse and cocky. At dawn my cockerel recites his poems brings up his feather-brained genius, and asserts noisily his importance
If your phone was somebody's life line and you'd be walking and slip in a puddle... If your phone fell out of your pocket into the water, if it became wet and out of use and you had
Look out road signs hide deeper meanings the white shark like a flash shows milky teeth then silence glass in your hair on your breasts in your shoes
Crow Land Cool air at dawn makes sound travel further, from the dawn chorus to a blackbird’s call, when the crows fly in, growing ink splotches blotting out the patchy rice paper sky.
Death, Creeping ivy spreading across crumbling stone walls over faint engraved script, beneath blackbirds picking in the chill of landscape, the bell ringing snowdrops,
1 New moon, face-down, drowning or crescent: an arthritic knotted finger, furiously wagging or full: a scream for the sun's remote fire , Munch's envy in limbo. 2 in the dead of the night I wake in a nightmare
Death in the Afternoon - 15 ml Pernod - Fill glass(es) Champagne - 1 cube(s) Sugar Place sugar cube in glass, add Pernod, crushed ice, a slice of lemon High-spirited, each time we come
He carries the china doll into the bottom of the garden, his way rightly-guided, digs out a shallow grave as it has been decided. He swaddles her in emotions makes her blue eyes open,
He beat death often, once he flew across the Southern Sea, he ditched his plane came up unhurt, not even scars, but in suspense if he’d survive the war, or if death catches him unripe,
We are not falling in love, for love is an addition to light that falls out of the shadows, the way a song is descending with high and low tunes or water colours seeping into a moist paper landscape
.....You expect an explanation. A flashback: a looming separation....
Mornings he is full of beans, eats egg and porridge for breakfast, sings a song, brushes off her jealousy, fools around with the cat, so that the postman who calls,
I sometimes will ask the night to shut out the world or prevent the arrival of dawn, as I don’t want morning to come, for nothing decides it, not the moon, not the sun.
Joy came to him far from memories, where sea gulls, lost in flight, crossed the dusk between wind and rain, the rocks and the sand and the loneliness of the cliffs.
Fight mind against matter, when Saquasohuh The Blue Star Kachina dances in the plaza and removes his mask! The children were laughing, when the great flood receded.
you will be separated from the magnolia tree and the song birds from your house and the hands that make it inhabitable from the stubborn habits open the eyes and close them
In the morning I put on my coat I snap out of my habit of yoghurt and fruit and take to the sea in my boat, have sushi for breakfast and catch my sardines in a net,
Queuing at the barracks to have our driving skills checked, we make a group of miserable looking people dressed in khakis, browns and blacks, some of the elder women with jewellery
This is not what they mean when they say "die for love", or "burnt by fire," more stem a rising flood that reaches high up to the chin, but does not let one die or drown desire.
I have led him when the day was at its blackest, with clouds tight fisted, no sun to speak of, and took him to the place, where the light went out, holding him by his arm, all the way.
Horst Rippert, a German fighter ace just learned that one of his 28 wartime kills was his favourite author
Some mornings come in hazy light; sun rays that flutter between the curtains and the dusty oak beams, run along the ceiling digging my eyes of blue sleepiness
My body moved on screen, his lay in stillness in his maternal room in needless wait, my almost child, near as he was in utero , a flotsam that will go to waste with hopes and dreams,
Keen-sensed and agile sun-worshiper of the rocky deserts, patient dweller of glittering sands whizzing across stone. For green in luscious shades
...together with the Medusa, figurehead of a whaling ship baring her breasts in a long lasting message...
I found this place by drawing a house, two windows with a front door between them and moved in.
Words come easily to his smiling lips. His handsome face is so very attractive with the blue flash in his eyes. But when he knelt, said he was filled with the Holy Ghost,
Next to the railway line, this house, resentful of being looked at, painfully holds itself up straight, ashamed of its gawky gables and blind windows, embarrassed
What could I do or say? Would pain smooth out under my perfect words? Would it even listen? Winds soothe and refresh. Green shades in the land please the eye, and sitting by the water
Unresolved lie the things of the heart, locked rooms, where keys have been lost, or windows closed to the air of spring or books left out in a foreign tongue.
Guardians of the tree of life or winged goddesses of Egypt, from Sumeria to Babylon and beyond you are known moving between heaven and earth, fusers of dimensions, who instruct,
You squat when you're squatting in an empty house, to check its electrics, for that's how it shows what it's worth, and trace the currents that flow through its wires, to proof
Your voice touched us, Rik Clay. You opened the doors to deeper understanding. Your thoughts overlapped and crystallized reality. As with loud speakers you reached far out into consciousness.
They came together, anxious and unsure of Him, who stood in darkness and decided to go and leave them, in his aim to cure his fear of death. For death he had provided.
In search for her I walked right through her ghost feeling the cold around the kitchen table, where for all those years she read the bible, talked at length
Rainer Maria Rilke, one of the most famous 20th century poets in the world died in 1926 after a long illness.His poems are translated in more than 100 languages...
You search a world that is nowhere but deep within, constantly flowing.. With time disappears the exterior. Where once had been places and houses, now have risen clear visions of thought
The house in Jericho, where all the white roses embraced around the window panes, while from the inside wafts of baking stirred and laughter rose and fell into the night.
I closed the door and all the lights went dead I opened it again and saw the sun (I think by then you ran within my head) The wind collected all my dreams in red
Not for crying, her eyes wide open in anger for maximum effect hazel in its depth and green melting into gold. I wonder, why, at this time I cannot see her beauty
I love how he lives life to the full, his solitary high on a wall, his coercion of balancing on his hind legs to reach even further, the way he is strutting as only he can strut-
Planned for days, they turned up in their kit, with only a few hours sleep, their dogs pulling on leads, their tools ready and eyeing the rubble as far as they could see, a world in ruins.
It is the year twenty-eleven. Some are still alive but nature put the candle out in the land of the Rising Sun. My thoughts go to Iwate, Miyagi, Fukushima and Ibaraki,
(after a letter a young English woman wrote from Sendai) Things here in Sendai are surreal. My shack is worthy of its name we all share water, food, kerosene. We sleep lined up in one room,
As if a monster unbolted a secret door and ripped the earth into shreds just under the ocean he has opened an abyss along the seabed, a bleeding wound of seeping muck, vaporizing
Air-borne and invisible, sky-choker, cloud-blaster, his mood unpredictable, his longevity tried and judged, he has no measure of application, but black powers feeding off his core.
For many years I got used to old age by watching her when walking to the shops, past my front window like a great big bag of ripe bananas in her yellow frock:
Walking with you and him in the enchanted garden, the wind blew your hair through our guessing silence and the sunflowers turned their faces skywards as if to ask for forgiveness.
Where to find the soft cushions of solace? Not in the wintry days that started so confidently with untimely buds forming and now the spring frozen worlds. I wanted butterflies
I am not dead. I fell asleep. I walked through shadows and valleys. I reached the sea and swam along strange creatures in undersea alleys, until a breeze blew me ashore
Dreams will say nothing and I tell you so. Dreams are far stars and nothing more. If they could tell a meaning, you would know. If we should cry when love rips out a core,
I am holding my father’s hand so white And in silence we walk up the whispering track. Dark figures with helmets lie on the side. Blue shapes of...
The night wakes me, hands me her moonlight. I dress in dreams, follow her call through the dark And crouch down by the horizon. Her amber eyes are...
I still feel you in the summer meadows we walked, and in thoughts that shape prayers without words. I watched you staggering, panting, exulting. You...
Water slows the troubled heart Hidden the midnight moon Lost in a veil of darkness Travelling through the cities of time In silence and blue that...
Mornings spent lazily lying below a mist of speckled sun. Its rays are reaching from between the curtains up to the dusty beams , let glorious...
I It was at dawn, one day in May; dark birds in the low light crossed wing-beating in the breath of a new day. You counted the precious moments, when...
In Between I stand within time zones the one with its technical data and metallic intelligence, its movements like silent clatter in isolation,...
Find me the feelings and nothing less, for emotions give the mind what it needs and cannot be without. This honey melting in my soul is all it wants...
Lonely, under darkest earth, in the softest weaving night are the long lost boys still dreaming of a God who did not hear them, of dead eyes in...
Where justice walks sedated and the cries of the children are no longer heard. Where the air has lost its purity and we breathe in and out Gamma rays...
As if a trespasser arrived at a room without sound, with no moaning, but its absence, the vague feeling of someone sleeping, or people suddenly stop...
sky-born we looked at the world, you and I, at the same time each glance was a renewal, but now, after time passed, we fell into a loss of dream, you...
Sand-shift of hours, persistently dissolving, the little gems, granite-reality, the immovable block, where times turn like weather vanes. Life blows...
I have lived it over and over again, the same moment, the same slightly, indifferently flickering sunrays over the curtains, dancing up to the...
(in memory of Sylvia Plath) I know my branches, I feel with my trunk deep down into the warm moisture known since birth. It is the wind playing,...
I play your anger back to me at night, those words you said, with or without intent. For passion meets in love and hate, not white but grey in shades...
I am unstoppable, in a burst of light I am forced out to be put in place. The wind speaks its language, old idioms never to touch, but their contours...
Cinnamon-faced you swim In organic butter. Your batter stiffened with a little milk, finally leads to a creamy consistency. O you yellow beauty with...
Years pass as solidly as stones on an ancient path. I understand sadness, it is the sky we live under… Cancer cells multiplying in the darkness of...
My grandson paints zombies for Christmas. When I ask him why He says zombies are cool. Zombies aren’t dead but they should be. They attack even...
The way I leave I’ll do it secretly without a tear that binds me to the flesh, without a scream, that binds me to the mind but like the ghosts, that...
When I searched for it If I used the forbidden eye to bring back the old wooden bridge over the slow streaming brook, the gnarled carvings of names...
Everything is vulnerable at nightfall. All rooms in the empty house are blurred by the penetrating darkness. Inside the bedroom the bed Is still...
I see you softly gliding down, drained words escape your mouth, rising mother-of-pearl bubbles, I watch as behind glass, noting how they are...
I live in uncertain times got stuck in a hazy light and hold my breath to prevent myself from reaching for the invisible books no one knows anymore...