Archive for August, 2011

That day

The day the suitcase stood in the living room,
open,Β  waiting for contents, but no one was there
to fill it, and a spider already decided to make its web
in the rusty iron corners where it would never catch a fly,
when dust Β danced in the sunlight that came in through misty windows
that day would be known as too late.

Not ready

I am not ready to make poetry
out of my worst anxiety
as the mess I am at times
is due to not being able to
make head or tail.
Or was this a poem ?

Painted glass

I can’t see the inside of the mirror,
it must be a dark place,
as reflections move with the speed of light
to get out of there.
What is behind the surface,
what is there inside the image
that reflects when it has absorbed
your face?
How much of you
is reflected,
how much is glass?
What are mirrors made of?
Just when I knew you,
you dropped the mirror
or did you smash it?
And you fell in thousand
times you, each different,
Glass and aluminium.
Can I keep the piece with your eye?


It takes a rock to hide inside
to be gone, I need to be one with stone
as the cliff of your contempt is hanging over me.
Only there you cannot see me.
I need to be inside the stone.

I spread my body and push
my skin and flesh
inside the granite
till I am gone
torn apart

I wrote this this morning minutes after I read a poem of Dunstan Carter, which is now on poetry from the sea as Dunstan is the first guest writer πŸ™‚ His poems are fantastic!

part of it all

I laughed the sadness out of me
but it came back.
I loved the sadness out of me.
It came back again.
I lowed the sadness out of me.
It returned.
The sadness will stay part of me
where it belongs.

Cats and dogs

I poured my love for you and it rained
in the street where the beer also died
Just a few moments we hold each other in freight
in a mist of not being sures.
And already we walked on, not in pace.
My step slower than yours.
When it rains, to me it still Β pours.

Housing shortage

The family we visited lived upstairs,
above another family never to be seen
except for their lines of laundry.
I was told not to walk around,
to not make a sound, they whispered.
They lived above the noisy level of the street
but far away from any heaven
as the place was damp and reeked.
And it felt weird to think
at little distance below my feet
some couple in their underwear
were having dinner.

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