Archive for March, 2011

just before the fall


the cured invalide

throwing away his crutches

the toddler letting go his father’s hand

the last bird in the nest

that feels better

underneath the mother’s  feather

getting pushed out

rhyming  was my comfy grandma bike

time  now to ride a unicycle


look ma, no rhyme!



this is my acceptance post for the perfect poet award week 40

longing for nostalgia


Remember those days of nostalgia

How we loved flea market treasures

And bread from old bakery’s

What a great time we had

With  rented movies in black and white

Listening to cd’s of old Vera Lynn recordings

And I wore that grandmother’s dress

But the nostalgia is gone

altogether now

Only the memory stays




Destination destiny


I remember

when I was a child

Ali, Ina, Maarten

my father would sent me a letter

from some far away port

my imagination traveled better

but the secret

was not revealed

as his letters were formal and short

if we joined him on some voyage

we would get the general idea

of foreign ports and being far away

but it was not enough for me

I wanted for myself to see

what it was to be so far from home

and I did see some amazing places

always an adventure just to roam

never sure where the train may take you

and to be invited to some stranger’s home



you can see your destination in advance

every corner of the world has been filmed

and you can take a glance

it is all on Google earth

so why bother going at all



you want to send your child a precious letter

a vague impression shown

but not revealing much

just a little touch

of a destiny unknown


entry for jingle poetry potluck

Poetry in motion (looking for a better title)


I softly touch his longing ego

And smother it with what I hope is love

in many a gymnastic  pose

But then

just before he explodes into glory

I notice

his nostrils have hairs growing inside

and for a moment I am standing on one leg

asking myself

Can I make love to a face with a hairy nose?




This must not go






The  scent of the ripened fruit you eat

While I am sitting quiet at your feet

And just the whisper of the undertow

This must not go


Watching your  fedora out of reach

rolling  away over the empty beach

And just the whisper of the undertow

This must not go


The comfort of your body  being near

The soundless spoken words so very  dear

And just the whisper of the undertow

This must not go



(picture made by my husband Toussaint, Terschelling West beach)


Nature concured this time




At her age of eighty five

it is a miracle to all

The fact that she is still alive

As  every week she  risks a fall

Thursdays she hangs out of her bedroom window,

to clean the outside of the glass

She has not fallen down yet, good for her

though a few times yes, she almost has

We all wait  for  disaster to occur

And today one seagull made  her work in vain

As he relieved himself  above  the windowpane





When at night

fears come to do the dance macabre in cold uneasy dreams

And thick darkness can’t hide those images of doom

No sanctuary is this room

Till daylight comes they haunt the restless sleeper

The reaper then runs  off, the job undone

The sleep is not yet gone

In fact, is getting deeper

Dream on dreamer, just dream on





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