Archive for September, 2018

Last will

On high ground in evening light, how nice,
the sea before me seems so undisturbed –
Terschelling island waiting for the night.
Not much is wrong here, the lighthouse beams
shine over quiet waves.
A legacy of ebb and flow,
the scene I want to pass on
to my children’s children in my will.
This gift of nature,
a dream to start my night with,
in pink and orange wrappage. Will it be mine to give?

Then, seagulls, trapped and dead in bright
blue nylon, wash ashore and start to be part of a nightmare.
More and more the rising sea proves to be
a giant bowl of plastic soup.
Unsavory. Unprecedented. Ugly, made of useless nonsense
like 60 years of waste, my life, in balloons, bubble gum and bags.

The wind is howling now and disapproves.
I close my eyes. I do not want the day to end like this.
When I wake up the demons of the night have washed themselves away.
A seabird screams and leaves, the sea, a mystery again,
waits for the new tide to repeat,
a little higher every day her movements,
giving back to us all the nasty spillage of her human vomit,
leaving us our home-made killing legacy.

I wrote this poem yesterday to perform this morning for the participants of the Springtij festival (symposium) here on the island. As it is an international affair, I did it in English.

Enigma (sort of song)

The more I watch the room in shades you fade from memory.
The more I think of you, the less I know is true.
There is a reason for most insects
and for colours, flowers, snow
and sunshine too.

There is a cure for many pains,
there is an answer to all questions,
there is hope they say and wisdom, love,
and for Christ’s sake –
there is you.

The more I think of us the less I get it.
The more I watch the room in shades, you disappear.
Most insects have a useful talent.
I love most colours, flowers,
snow and sunshine too.

There is no cure for just not knowing,
for failing hope and fading memory,
for knowing less while I’m deeper thinking
and for Christ’s sake –
I’m not finding you.

I am having a period of just not grasping life. It will come back to me surely 🙂

Question tags

Hands not forgiving, eyes for closure; you and I not going to happen, are we?
Mermaids on the run, storm approaching, autumn starting; no chance of a change, is there?
More of what could have been, less happening; life is a waiting room for some, isn’t it?
Maybe question tags have a reason for existing, for keeping open a weary doubtful mind.
Haven’t they?

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