In only 12 days my new poetry book, in Dutch this time, called “Op weg naar het niets” will be released. For this to happen the publisher Boeskscout needs emailadresses to send a one time only promomail. I need 14 more adresses at this point, to be send to my email I.Schroders@gmail.com There has to be this sentence in the mail:
” Ik geef toestemming voor gebruik van mijn mailadres voor het toezenden van een eenmalige promotiemailing. ”
(I give permission for the use of my emailadress for sending a one-time only promotionmail)
Of course this does not mean you will have to buy the book :) it is only for the promo.
I would be so much obliged! xxx
For cherishing and admiration: as you choose –
Find the right shell on the beach, no,
Find two! And each of them must be salt. For taste.
Keep them close to your heart
Or in your hands in your pockets, one each,
In a jar, in a box, for months to come.
Look at them during storms, caress them,
Smell them, taste them.
You will be in that breeze on the beach each time
To cherish and to admire, meanwhile knowing that
What you decided then and there was your decision
And only you can keep the shells, or crash them.
The sea was here
In all the blood the dawn had shed
Before we lived, ongoing waves
Will be there after, you and me were
Only walking by the shore at times
Like so many have done and will do.
The red waves gave birth
To what we remember
And will do so. Yet, now I am alone
The murmur of the earth is just for me.
In this hour in this moment
Time has washed itself before my feet
And rinsed other memories of you
And a breeze has cleared the air. To the sea
There is no change that I’m aware of.
The morning-whispers from icy trees, like the sound of needles embroiding memories worth watching, make him hold his pace.
Once there was a pink painted house he can not find now. A blackbird follows every move he makes.
His footsteps have not been here in a while, they are heavier.
He knows the histories behind these walls as he witnessed them
And the light streaming from the sky is the same
As when he had a name, when there was no need for introduction.
Now the town has no interest in him, and already he walks on
Unaware of the curtain moving behind the window of the white house, Where time has washed some of the paint
And underneath the layers the pink is screaming for his return.
Then the blackbird lands and stands before him, won’t give way. The man looks over his shoulder. The embroidery is ready; trees go silent.
~~ Happy New Year!!!!! ~~
In the silence of the morning
While you remain asleep upstairs, there is
Laundry mumbling. One car
Passing by in sudden noise.
Trees, I hear their presence.
I hear blood streaming in my ears.
Soundless birds float over houses.
Already the day has told me
All I should know: trees can talk
By means of storm; my streaming blood
Speaks in a humming way; there is
A choice to listen or to not to what they say
And you can be asleep until it’s noon:
Upstairs, unaware of voice, but sound.
‘If you do that, the walls will crack, the rivers
Will be overflowing all the land between the one and you.
A house will tremble and fall down.
You must not tell,’ he said. ‘Give it a rest.
How often have you seen it wrongly, how to know
This time the seasons have their signs layed out for you
With every bird from some oblivion that sings to you? It is no test,
Why should the omen have the final word?
It is no use to try and make a heart out of a perfect rock,
Or mold a tempest river into a canal.
If he feels you the way you do,’ he said, ‘then time will tell.’
He was her inner voice and he knew best.
Future nightmares are on hold
As November is at end,
Too cold the streets we walk at night,
The plastic chairs are blown away
And the summer guests all went.
We are the ones who stay, my friend,
And I am glad for days we spend
Together on an empty beach in snow.
There is a hand for you to reach
And sudden sunsets as we go.