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





Thank you for leaving me behind




you took the ferry  without me

and didn’t talk about returning

separation, an indifferent  sea

while my heart just kept  on yearning


I couldn’t be with you

and sunshine didn’t  comfort me

the way it used to do

as with you I longed to be


of course I knew that this was better

no future was there for our love

still I did hope for a letter

wishing you would care enough


I was  sixteen, you three times my age

yes I know this was insanity, outrage

but you showed me I could trust

and what love is without lust


thank you for leaving me behind

it was not mean to do, but kind



entry for jingle thursday’s rally

I can’t download the awards, so a pic of them altogether is all I can do. Thanks Jingle  🙂

Deceitful Spring




Nature renews itself each year

Spring is whispering sweet deceitful lies

As flowers pop up out of nowhere here

Making  promises of eternal life

Still maybe my own end is near

Or  is it just my  midlife crisis that is haunting me?

Nature showing off with youth so dear

Meanwhile I am pulling out my first grey hair

Not feeling young  at all

Is this my Spring or Fall?




entrry for Jingle Potluck

Home to me



The tired houses leaning side by side

The rusty bicycle you always ride

The fisherman whose ship is work and pride

They all are home to me


The sand that’s blowing on the lonely beach

The waves that bring the shore  a  treasure each

The wrinkled  hand that’s  always there to reach

How that is home to me


The mother waiting on the windy pier

The cry of seagulls that are  always here

The far away sons and the one who’s near

So much is home to me


The grandchild who’ll be born in fall

The silent men who’ve seen it all

The drunk man waiting for the final call

That all is home to me


~{}~ entry for jingle poetry potluck

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