Archive for May, 2012

Be like a butterfly

The moment we are born, we start to die.
As butterflies should we be in our place,
they give to flowers when they know to fly
and make it art to do it with such grace.

From when we feel the earth under our feet
we know that there is more for exploration
enjoying every new day that we meet
and growing up we feed our expectation.

But for the butterflies we meet on our way
there soon’s an end to everything they know
when pretty flowers fade in their decay,
reminders of the day they too will go.

Between the moment they are born and death
they cherish each and every taken breath.

The bed has no knowledge

The bed has no knowledge
but there it lies, our love,
in the curves of the sheets
it is hiding, waiting
for our return, now our bodies
are needed elsewhere till dusk.
The bed doesn’t know
that it’s love. But it’s there.


Goodbye (for N)

You were a part of me, my dearest friend,
I often shared your bad times as a child,
you were a tiger, just as brave and wild
and now I heard that your life had to end.

I’d been about these streets in other days
away from all that makes a mind a mess
a holiday from feelings more or less,
of wandering inside this complex maze.

Though while I wandered, you were on my mind,
I heard your voice as if you stood right here.
It was your presence that, so real and near,
was surely of a different, stranger kind.

The mist came up, along a breeze from sea,
a salty smell reminding me of you,
the way the mist in May will always do
like when we both were children, you and me.

The foghorn sounded as a sad salute.
a gull was crying in a raucous prayer,
and all was gone, the mist was everywhere
as well as in my eyes. My thoughts went mute.

A moment there you were, a child again,
a silhouette against the hazy sky.
You lifted your right arm to wave goodbye
and disappeared before the mist turned rain.

Just a bit of May

I go to sleep when all outside is light,
I rise and nothing changed, it’s light out there.
Dreams come with no more darkness, no more night,
no signs of fear or none that I’m aware.

The blackbird sings before I go to sleep
and wakes me up each day at about five.
This time of year, this way, I’d like to keep
in mind as best of memories in life.


Home isn’t an address

Home isn’t an address,
it’s a feel that you give,
both your arms inviting,
being where we belong.

It is there in your arms,
as I sleep contented,
a feeling of safety,
being where I should be.

I shall not mind what place
we are staying a while,
but preferably it’s
somewhere close to the sea.

You smile when I wake up
not knowing where we are
but I can hear the roar
and the air smells of salt.

Only together we’re home,
knowing each other well,
being ourselves at ease,
no matter where we are.

Days of no movement

Photo of the harbour of Terschelling I made this morning 22 May

I have days of no movement
waiting for some energy
when light seems to slow down
and my thoughts are repeating.

see the shades on the pavement
overtaking elderly
overtaking the town
now my mind is retreating.

ships need time in a harbour
leaving early morning though
as the weather is good,
they sail away to the sea.

I find shade from the arbor
watching all the ships now go
and try to change my mood,
finding me place to be.

clouds are running above me
changing shapes, and more and more
I’m not going places,
while everyone else is gone.

once it all was enough, we
were here together, before.
I’ll wait, as the case is
now, my wandering is done.

“Veritas” got a new review!

Bardess, (Corfu NY), visit Diane's wp blog a wonderful poet and artist, wrote a review on Diane, I am speechless! Thank you very much!

This is the review:

Ina’s poetry offers a generous share in her life on an island, not in isolation but sublime and sensible awareness of the world around her. It’s like being invited to tea with her observations and explorations, enjoyments and frustrations, pathos and humor, a little fantasy here and there, and sensuality that is both honest and enigmatic. She’s a storyteller, traveler, tease, naturalist, and romantic, prolific but also precise in this collection about the everyday and unusual, love, the sea, and death, the poems as varied in form and subject as they are consistently entertaining and enlightening.

Her writing feels spontaneous but also very conscious of what it is about and wants to express, a clarity all the more remarkable as English is not her native tongue. Perhaps that is why there is a freshness to it. Some of her most powerful and lyrical images reflect her past and present connection to the sea, as if she is most comfortable revealing herself through its moods and creatures, work and play-enticed by its waves and journeys and horizons but also simple strolls along its shores.

Ina offers poetry as an ally, not something to suffer through but a friend to rely on, like the `Lighthouse’ that…

`…shines its light in endless beams
to safety from the tempest sea
and when a storm
torments the shore or a mist comes up
it is your guide
for needed shelter.’

‘Veritas’, though specific to Ina’s exterior and interior perceptions and experiences, has much to say and sing to the hearts and minds, tears and smiles of others. I thoroughly recommend it, for reading through once and twice and more, and certainly for keeping nearby for opening to any page any time.

Back in the alley

Through the alley I went
because from the harbour
I could hear the music
as the band was playing.

Sunshine in other streets,
festivities elsewhere,
marching older children
but here, not yet. Silence.

This was the alley where
expectations grew as
I ran bare feet over
the bricks through the darkness.

Feeling the cold I ran
towards the waiting warmth
where the music approached
and then faded away.

I don’t recall the band
nor the marching children.
All that was left for me,
empty streets, setting Sun.

Thinking back I suppose
I didn’t make it then
but that feel was a new:
knowing expectations!

Through dark alleys I go,
the light always waiting.
Though I wear shoes now
my feet feel the cold bricks.

If someone knew me

All the wonders of nature,
as we have bright coloured birds,
flowers, and breathtaking sunsets,
nothing of it is really important.

I could live in a city if I had friends there.
I don’t want to be a lonely nomad
in a desert of buildings. But I could
live there if someone knew me.

Flesh is not who we are,
and our minds can’t find others,
where is our soul hiding?
You touched me, that is good.

What matters
the ultimate language of blackbirds
and you and me
thinking the same thing
at the same time.

Alone is not enough

Standing on two feet, looking with two eyes,
now I know one person is not enough.
Where is the other, and is it really
you, but do you know me then, do I know you?

We open gates and we don’t know what’s there
until a door squeaks, who are we to know?
Hearing with two ears, walking on two legs
and I know I need to be with someone.

Alone is good for trees, rocks in oceans
and predators. I need to be with one
to be afraid together over life
and feel a caring bit of company.

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