Posts tagged ‘poetry’

Dust

Dust is us
Our scattered dead skin
Spread all over old pieces of furniture,
Looking the same, yours, mine, that of
The Greek lady who let us a room
And tried to rip us off,
Dust everywhere, not just hers
But also that of warriors, tourists,
Writers: everyone who ever stayed here
Who ever said foot in this Naxos place
Is spread over all the old furniture
And we all look the same
Whirling under the bed,
Us, scattered and forgotten.

Junket

The sea has mingled
With my past today,
Fiercely spitting out
Leftovers of its junket meal
In a brownish grey
While trembling air
Digested parts,
As it should be:
Lovers touches,
Reckless (always trying to be fair,
But reckless) prattle,
False assumptions,
Cherished letters.
You and me.

Use

You ask about the use of fountains,
Spraying water only to drink itself,
Still the most wanted places in cities.
We stood in one, on a hot day.

There is no use, I say. Only the beauty
And to cool the feet of tourists,
To throw in a coin for good luck.
Now there, that is a lot of use, you say.

You make me see life in a different way.

Excommunication

I try to talk and words come out a quote;
No matter what I say, they are not heard
As mine, you burn them while I write this note.

So much we spoke about, so loud we wrote;
That you won’t hear me now seems too absurd.
I try to talk and words come out a quote.

Your tired voice just tells me that you’re sad,
Your letters, bleak, polite, and not deterred
As mine, you burn them while I write this note.

Remember all the moments that we had,
Now what is left, reminds me of our flirt.
I try to talk and words come out a quote.

I’m reminiscent, while black clouds afloat.
Regretfully I feel your words, they hurt
As mine, you burn them while I write this note.

We both are dwellers on a different road.
It’s time to move, just speak and say the word.
As mine, you burn them while I write this note.
I try to talk and words come out a quote.

Writing

Surrounded by the necessary tools:
A screen, a keyboard to write down my lines
And knowing that from now on grammar rules
I pass the hours in a sort of trance.

It is the daily dance, the bleak routine,
In which us writing fools think lies our fate,
We must create an interesting terrene;
The rest of life is only there to wait.

Surrounded by a screen and knowing I
Must pass the hours in a sort of trance,
I dance and lie my fate in bleak routine.

Ageing

Openings in greyish skies never seem hopefull,
These bottomless ponds between islands of clouds,
No one should want to get lost out there.

At night at least there are stars,
Down here the lights of cars keep moving.
When all is dark, we are lost so we feel

As then, in the black of eternity
We are ourselves too much, we then know
Whom we have become, that we should be adults now

But already a flickering of neon,
A buoy to reassure us chases off the hungry bears
So we breathe on, relieved. Children once more.

Flotsam

A wave moves higher up the beach,
Water splashing round our feet; you cry,
With every jump you prove yourself that you can fly.

Above us clouds are moving in opposite direction,
I try to find your hand, but you’re too far.
A wave moves higher up the beach.

Some seagulls come quite near us, curious
Like children we wonder about shells,
With every jump you prove yourself that you can fly.

Away we are, away from what has kept us lonely.
No need to go back to the car and drive from here.
A wave moves higher up the beach.

North Sea darkness where no sun shines.
Flotsam and jetsam, we are home here.
A wave moves higher up the beach.
With every jump you prove yourself that you can fly.

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