Archive for May, 2014

Murmuration

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The murmuration shaped itself into a giant bird,
and swiftly moved as one, a joyful flirt with sea and sky,
I don’t know why they did so for my very eyes.

They did it with no wings colliding, their unity
made me feel humble as a human, as far
away from murmuration seemed humanity to me.

Home

I doubt the place exists
– the ruins of a Roman house
on an island far from world,
overgrown, a labyrinth of rooms.

When children, cats and friends have left us,
we watch the sun set every night.

There’s a piano for the ghost to play on
and an antique harp, fondled by the wind;
sometimes they play together.

We have no garden but wild flowers grow
on old fundaments. We live
from what the Romans planted
and we find to eat. Sometimes
you leave me and row ashore
returning with chocolate and wine.

When you are here more and longer
to do the stuff I can’t, and me 🙂 ,
we watch how poppies grow, dandelions.

One day we shall take the boat out
to sea, leaving for ever in a mist,
leaving no trace –
I doubt the place exists.

Aunt

The tablecloth stains carefully covered
by means of a vase with plastic flowers,
an ashtray never used,
two framed photos of people she never cared for
and the dust collecting bible:
she hides well and goes through her hours
in silence. She knows more of covering up
than her pale eyes reveal.

Almost awake

Getting out of the dream,
not quite awake, no word yet spoken
I try to linger on for more,
but church bells ring,
and curtains move, a bird is singing,
a toilet flushed.

So now the dream forsakes me,
and I become its traitor,
it does not want me woken,
starts slipping, already grudging
as I let go.

It will take
the memory away from me
before I can remember.
Before I know my name again.

Faces

After our break up
I saw faces everywhere:
they grew and aged in clouds
and moved as shadows
through bedroom curtains,
hid in darkest corners,
popped up
in thousands of fixed clones
on wallpaper, in sunbeams
or appeared on tree barks,
telling me smiling stories
or horror scenes, pain,
but they were not yours –
the only face I searched for.

I once did see your face:
smiling, distant, different,
changed, one in the crowd of many
indifferent faces,
soon melting with them,
disappearing. Not looking for mine.

Your face became a matter of the past.
I found my own face in the mirror.
You were a memory at last.

Meet My Main Character blog tour: Maria

Meet My Main Character: Maria

I was kindly tagged by my dear friend Diane M. Denton, ( she is the author of several short stories, and of the historical fiction novel “A House Near Luccoli” as well as she is a wonderful poet and artist) ,
to participate in the ‘Meet My Main Character (of a work in progress or soon to be published novel)’ blog tour.

I highly recommend Diane’s published novel, and encourage you to read here about her soon-to-be-released sequel of A House Near Luccoli 🙂

I am originally a fiction writer, I have written 305 Dutch novels of the light genre, they were published by Marken BV in Venlo, the Netherlands, and I also wrote 2 English poetry books, “Veritas” and “Amor” both published by Winter Goose Publishing in California.

I decided to write a novel in English, a thriller, after a friend and English poet said I should give it a try.

While I was thinking about it, the story of Maria found its way to my mind. I can’t reveal too much of course, but here are my answers to the questions that are a part of this blog tour:

1) What is the name of your character? Is he/she fictional or a historic person?

Maria Bleeker is a fictional character.

2) When and where is the story set?

The story takes place from her birth in 1972 till recent, in Belgium, Amsterdam and England (Yorkshire).

3) What should we know about Maria?

Maria is an orphan, her parents were killed during a road accident when she was a baby. She grows up with her grandparents in Belgium; her grandmother, a former schoolteacher, homeschools her.

4) What is Maria’s main conflict?

Maria has been kept away from the world and she seems very naive. The people who love her most, make sure she is taken care of, but one day Maria needs to prove she can cope with an impossible situation.

5) What is Maria’s personal goal?

Maria has to survive, that is the main thing.

6) Is there a working title for this novel, and can we read more about it?

It is titled “Maria’s Journey”. (for now, that is)

7) When can we expect the book to be published?

I have not set a date, I am in a very early stage! When it is about to be finished, I shall look for a publisher.

I am now supposed to tag 5 writers with characters of new novels to introduce. This was not easy at all but I have managed to find 2 wonderful writers at least 🙂

My writers to explore:
Joseph Falank

Peter Wells

Thank you so much for visiting!

The deal

The eyes saw all, but look surprised
to see the reaper in this early hour.
The sunset not quite ready for the day
is mean enough to hold back on the dusty beams
that always were his reason to arise.

The reaper hesitates to make the crucial gesture.
There is still time for some negotiations,
so it seems. What is discussed, nobody knows,
but in the end, the curtains close.

“He looks surprised,“ his feeble grandson says
the next day when the mourners come
to shed some tears.
The reaper, standing in the corner, smiles.

The deal is done.
He will not come to get this child, not
for a hundred years.

Mist

Doubt sneaks up
slowly, a mist
between you and me
on a deserted beach.
I’m blinking twice;
you are gone
perhaps
or not.

Becoming mother

Days when inside you
a new person is growing,
are longer days, intensely;
more than before,
you are aware of life
and how fragile it is,
feeling its strength
in every fiber of your existence
as a bond is achieved
and now you know
how the chain is forged,
why you cry
over spoiled milk and daisies.
It has always been so
for mothers to be.

Deceit

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Days end as started.
Faded blood stains,
reminders of what went on
here during day,
under heaven’s surface,
below the belt,
beyond humanity;
in luring shades of red,
just as cruel
in its lies and deception,
lovely to our hopeful eyes.

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