Dream on an early ferry

To find myself, in darkness on the ferry
The known already lesser known,
The island moving out of me, alone
When all depends on steel and water,

The scenery turns red and grey,
The East ahead in sunrise. Time
Takes more from crossing than it does at home.
In mist the engine is the heartbeat in this coma.

The vessel travels backwards through my time,
My mother combs my hair at sea,
I hold the brush and me, the child, is also she,
But she moves out of me as mist gives in. Arriving.

In the moment

Watching a sunrise
in the Moroccan desert
all the colours of heat,
smelling spices,
so much
to take in
and I wonder
where to pee.

Making love,
we even have candle’s burning
that has the colour of passion
and there is piano music
coming from the neighbours garden
and I crave chocolate
bad enough to leave you
and go downstairs.

Getting stitches
all the way in my arse,
while thinking
of a pink dress
I once had.
How careful I was
not to make it dirty
as the needle goes in and out.

(This poem was published in The Journal #36, May 2012)

I shall not do this

The lines between us spoken, no pauses,
Keep us together for a while, for this time, but
What happens if we stop
Talking about weather and work and politics (such matter that doesn’t),
When silence takes over the space between us,
Rudely digging in mines of what is our distance? I could do.
This, and still be here with you, but you? We are apart.
I shall not do this. Not start.
I think it might rain, but the
Fish tasted nice, don’t go yet.
Hold this frail silver line
To safety as I shall rescue you
As you shall rescue me.

I do not want this

Extending my awareness I shiver,
Shutting my eyes – no resolution.
I do not want this:
This fever, fear, a premonition of
A flooding river, my own bareness,
I must abandon all I am
To overcome that last fall to the sea.


After walking with you to the harsh harbour
And watching you step on the cold first ferry, wave and go,
I followed you through the rest of the stormy day.

As I did the dishes and dropped your mug
I sat on the back of your bicycle
Watching you get lost, soaked,
Miserable on the flat Frisian mainland.

There you spent your first day at the new school,
Your first night in the strange boarding house
And I stood by your bed homesick for the both of us,
Howling like a dog.

You never knew me as Cerberus did you?

The river ends

My love, this river I am watching flows
Its way by means of many curves as if
It tries escaping, like the way we live,
Thrown back into the mainstream as it goes.

The bridge that has been there since Roman days
Has seen it all, the water that keeps streaming
On, witnessed my desperation and my dreaming.
The water changed its path in many ways.

But waterfalls have killed most of my fears;
Each time the deep would take me, I emerged,
I’ve swum among the long forgotten tears
Because ’t was you who urged me to go on.

My love, from where I stand now I feel free.
I’ll join you where this river ends in sea.


I live in a wentletrap world and my shell
Is never invaded and hidden so well,
I only pop out for a breath of fresh air,
I don’t want to wander, to go anywhere.

When you come to visit, I might let you in
But for you to find me, know where to begin.
I am in my world all alone and in peace,
A wentletrap living at leisure and ease.

Sometimes I get lost in my wentletrap place,
The only companion my own mirrored face,
But outside the world is too violent and loud,
So as I am safe, I shall never get out.


If you want to see what a wentletrap shell looks like, click here. The word comes from Dutch ‘wenteltrap’, meaning spiral staircase.


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