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You

In the pearl of the morning
Watching the dew tears
On unfolding Spring

Your face appears in mildly winking
Amongst other past features
Of uncertain times

And I am with you now
Cloud to cloud, blue to blue.
Love your smile.

It will stay with me
Till afternoon rain.

Memorial plaque of Steve Hall washed ashore

Steve-Hall-who-is-heSomething different from my usual postings.

On Easter a memorial plaque still attached to some piece of wood washed ashore on the beach of Terschelling and we think it might be coming from the UK.

Read here in English about the beachcomber’s find

Looking for relatives. If you happen to know a Steve Hall who died in October 2011 and was 45 years of age, it might be him. Please let us know.

Thank you!

Amor

From my hand to the paper went my mind,
The ink fled wider than the words, my thoughts
Found space while beaks became a delta,
The poems were a sea of all I wanted you to know.

But your ships would never sail my waters,
And a draught has blown the sheets away,
Last words that never made it to Pompeii.
I hope you made it safe and free.

To start a new year with a new poem and wishing everyone a very good 2017.

2016

Sea breath comes in damp ashore,
Telling, whispering of death,
The waves are lamed already
And from where I stand what is left, is just me,
Is just bone and flesh and tears that rest
Alone in mist in tender thoughts and faded hope.

I’m looking between North and West
and see no end and no beginning.
Another funeral goes by my house today.
The church bell tired in the Winter air
The mist horn crying, longing too
For this one year to go away and die.

Island in December

Cold air entered first
as the door opened wide,
the man coming in
brought in mist from outside.

For a moment he stared
after shutting the door.
No one  had ever seen him before,
he seemed lost. He seemed tired.

He walked to the bar
and ordered a beer.
We, the girls, ignored him, him not being
from here and alone, from afar.

But an old man approached him,
and asked who he’d be.
He didn’t answer. He got his drink free
as the old man went on

with his questions of how
had he managed to get here
where no living soul came.
This put him a bit of his balance we saw.

“How do you mean?”
“We are dead, see.” And all of us nodded.
“So what is your name?”
He did not answer, but knocked over his stool

as he ran out the door straight under a car.
Who could he have been? And why was he here?
His glass remains on the end of the bar,
and is never removed. But dead is his beer.

The end

We should aim for the polar light of our
minds at best, the journey being the goal
not awaiting an ending, if we find.
Why anticipate such, does it have to end?

We see the beginning of friendships
sailing through calm water, later in storm,
moving from one heartbreak to another,
stranding on rocks or unknown distant shores.

Unexpectedly blinded by the green
all ends. No, there is no more. This is it.
Had you known, would you have bothered to go?

Dead thoughts

Unlike a romantic painting
Dead thoughts underneath have no lines in between
Where green decay has sunk,
No shape to control the sailors who went.

All that remains are some bones and some teeth
And the rest flows post-mortem ashore of your brain,
In miniscule quantities,
Fog-silent, fishy-disguised.

But you like to put your feet in the water
And think about beauty and poems.
How could you link your toes
With rubber blue fingers,
Eyes staring up where the water begins?

With your straw hat and waving blonde hair
Your thoughts dance to life. Come and join me, you sing.
For a moment you are the poor sailor’s wife.
For a moment your thoughts are for him.

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