Memory

A memory is a skipping stone,
Hitting truth for a second, then leaping,
Moving on across surface and awareness
Till it sinks deeply into the unknown.

All my thoughts of you have been thrown,
There are no pebbles left for me to use,
The water mirrors leafless trees. No rimpling.
The pond is darkened and again I am alone.

In thunderstorms

Summer days ending in thunderstorms,
Friendships ruined by time ( and by others)
The strong arms of mothers,
Getting weaker in time.

The death of a flower before it has bloomed.
Life is such. There’s no reason. There’s love
And there’s treason, but life starts over again:
In a thunderstorm, in the strong arms of mothers.

Sensing

20150630_084943

I walk in the most early hours by the sea
When no one else steps on the fluid sand
But me. All seabirds dream, their faces
Covered in their sizzling feathers.

Soft silvery waves make small sleepy movements,
Thoughts and horizon becoming one, and mix
And lose themselves until nothing remains. I’m sensing.

The water washes away all proof of my existence,
But one gull is following me back,
Until I’m far enough from her nest,
And more and more I become a person with words again.

Sea shells

20150630_084454

A million stars fell on the beach,
Each one a thought that never made it,
Moments, faded into dense eternity.

You say: The water is assembling now,
The sky is trembling. It was noticed, all of it.
We won’t live to see results, but let it be this way.

Let’s walk along the shore, my hand in yours,
Go side by side, go far away, before
The sea will find us here where none can stay.

Let’s fade together and become a shell. A star.
A thought escaping from the rising tide. Farewell.

 

Strangers

My memory of how we met that day
Before we fell in love, before we knew,
Is gaining golden layers in every May,
And more and more is speaking about you.

It happened suddenly: out of the blue
You stood before me. What was I to say?
We did what strangers are supposed to do;
The smiling of our eyes gave us away.

We tried to lie about it though ’t was true
That I would never want to leave, but stay
And for a while I thought you had no clue.
We were to part again, our love astray.

Now we’re two strangers on the quay, you say,
Both watching sailing ships move in the bay.

The teller

She told me my future on a cold Summer’s day,
On the quay of the harbour in Whitby,
And it sounded too weird for my ears to believe.

But while seven years passed, her predictions came true
Like she said, one by one. (I’am still due for more offspring
and some very good luck.) How she knew?

If she’s still there, and psychic enough,
She will know I’ll be grateful as long as I live
For her viewing and all of her magic.

;)

Zwolle

We turned directions and I’m lost, this town
A forest where I don’t know anything,
A flow of strangers in whose eyes I don’t
See recognition; rivers streaming in
Both ways, and toxic fumes hazing my sight.

It’s warmer here than home, the air a sweet
Unsalted crust, with some medieval scents,
We are closed in by history though
No one seems to care. We hear the witches
crying murder as they burn and drown.

It’s where you live. It feels as if I know
These walls, none straight, all old.
A train is speeding through the mumbling night
With purple big haired girls and tired young faces.
We turned directions and I’m home right here.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,190 other followers

%d bloggers like this: