Archive for September 9, 2011


We made the featherbed together
and feathers flew around
they did not touch the ground.
We made our bed and lied in it
and watched them fly around

The featherbed is gone,
and now you are away
I bought me a duvet
but I can’t make the bed alone
I don’t know how it’s done

Such a nice day

After watching the news,
earthquake, flood, revolt and weather,
it is time for coffee and the garden views.
I write a bit and then it’s time again for news.
Flood, war, a shooting and the weather
We walk a while over the beach
we have a meal, a sandwich each and meanwhile watch the news.
Nuclear disaster, men trapped in pit, war, war, and finally the weather
It was a nice day, wasn’t it?

Politely stabbed

I was with you in thoughts when I was cooking
when I ate when I drank when I slept
and everything in between.
I never wept, it felt
like you were here looking
over my shoulder.
You were everywhere
in my mind and my body,
though your absence lingered
in the choice of my clothes.

On the pillow the folded impression of you
stared at me till the cat took your place,
I tried to dry the rose you put in my hair
but it molded, I wore your sweater,
keeping your scent with me,
faking your presence.
I felt your hands when I was alone at nights.

And now we meet again and we dine
and you ask how I am.
I lie that I am fine.

Politely, with every cut
in the steak au poivre
you stab me to pieces.

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