Archive for December, 2013


10dec13 022

Now, halfway on your journey, have a pause,
the days have lost all light and go on blind,
except for somewhere in the morning when
the low sun gives away a sample beam,
before returning under cotton clouds
to hibernate some more and dream of Spring,
see all of this before the darkness comes
before you walk on further down the road.

The moment

This frosted moment in the afternoon,
you watching the grey sky
the Russian Poetry book in one hand,
snow stopped falling,
a cat standing still in the street,
the low hanging sun behind the clouds.

No curtain is moving but eyes are fixed.
You don’t blink. We hear no traffic,
no wind, an all over silence
is awaiting the inevitable:
the encounter of the new postman
and the neighbour’s German Shepherd.


Father’s hand

I do not remember your hand in mine
but you once lifted me on your shoulders
but you once hit me in the face
but your hand was the hand of a father
you were my father and I remember you well
but not your hand in mine ever

6dec13 015


the train a zipper
opening the white landscape
snow covers the track

I won’t come back
I won’t come back
I won’t come back

silence left behind
sheep didn’t even notice
I passed them so fast

The book

A book is lying
on a bench in the park
and the pages are turned
by the wind.

The words are fading
and they drown in the rain
as the poem is washed
down the sewer.

A silence comes down
for a while all is lost
then the water finds way
to the sea.

A difference is made
on a shore, when a wave
comes on land and a gull
calls out loud.

A book is lying
on a shore, on a beach
and we think it was brought
by the wind.


Like a grain of sand in the wind,
when a storm blows over land,
losing touch, flying your way
across waves before landing
in cold water, sinking into sea
to be forgotten
this is my love for you.

It won’t reach you in due time
but like the grain it will stay put
remain and waiting without change
as part of this earth
amongst so many others
that wash back to the shore
to become a piece of strand again.

My love for you won’t leave me
even in this storm. Like a grain
it is solid, indestructible.
It might sink into sea, but will return.
Like a grain of sand on the beach,
it has a chance that you will find it.
And that your hand will lift it up again.

Trees and Seagulls

A wonderful poem

Belfastdavid's Weblog

This poem owes everything in terms of inspiration to Mary Oliver’s poem ‘Wild Geese’
It also borrows heavily from the structure and format of that poem.
I make no apology for any of that.
And I trust that Mary Oliver would approve.


Trees and Seagulls

You do not have to regret.
You do not have to lose yourself
in a frenzy of self-recrimination.
You do not have to surround yourself
with a phalanx of if-onlys, maybes,
what-ifs and shoulds or oughts.

For if you are here at all
you are a survivor.
For if you are here at all
you are where you are meant to be.

You are a person crafted from
your own experiences;
you do not have to pretend otherwise.
Rather celebrate the person
you have become.

Tell me about dark days, yours,
and I will tell you about mine.

Meanwhile the trees outside your window

View original post 111 more words

Geese flight

Inhaling crisp air coming from the Pole,
I watch the geese move in their restless wiggle waggle
bound for the voyage and to fly away.
They feel the cold increasing, almost frost.

The sun shines low and blinds me,
with both eyes closed I listen to them call
as they start leaving for the South.
Sun can not blind a bird, you say.

I don’t want to believe you.
To me they close their eyes
the moment they leave ground. You
seem to know more about life than me, though.

Here all grows dead, the nights now cold,
we must have been forgotten,
I haven’t heard from anyone. December gray
has slowly moved up in the woods.

I can not blame the geese for leaving.
If I could fly, not blinded by the Sun
I’d follow them into adventure. If I could fly
and drift as free as feathers of a bird.

Today perhaps they’ll go away
and no one knows their destiny,
what makes them go there anyway.
Above us hours of ruffling wings.

A feather zigzags slowly down, a promise
to return in Spring, or maybe a goodbye for ever.
You try to reach for it but it gets lost in mist.
You can not catch a feather in free fall, I say.

“Amor” and “Veritas” on Kindle, for $ 2.99 !

Both my English Poetry Anthologies are on sale now in the Kindle edition:


UK : Veritas for £ 1.90! (Kindle)

Veritas on Kindle for just $ 2.99 🙂 , only in December!


“This is a beautiful book.

If I read it late in the evening it calms me and sends me to bed with my head in a good place.

Ina is a very talented poet.

I would recommend this book to all romantics everywhere.” (David Agnew)

UK : Amor for 1.90 !

Amor for 2.99 dollars on Kindle in December only!

Also available on Nook – Barnes and Noble (for Mac)

More Winter Goose titles on December sale!


Heathen in church

On heathen days we might be blessed,
as we have no religion, you and I,
we dwell in churches
to seek shelter from the rain
but find tears in our eyes
as we are not alone here.

The people who once prayed
under this roof, between these walls
linger in a crowded way, unseen,
we feel the cold damp sadness,
not from the rain that falls outside
nor from the mould. They are the prayers.

In desperation voices whisper, beg and stay,
a pray for afterlife to give them hope,
and then they suffer till their death
but they are heard beyond their graves,
beyond their time. Beyond belief.

We seldom leave an ancient church in joy.
We seldom cope with such abundant misery.

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