S P L I T T E R G E W I T T E R

i moved my blog...

2011-05-09T20:48:00.001+02:00

i moved my blog to the moon....nah...just to wordpress...hope to see you there...

www.jaywalkingthemoon.wordpress.com

mr. linky, the magic button and moving on

2011-04-30T12:29:00.001+02:00

..it all started with mr. linky and the fact that for some reason i didn't get him to work in my one stop poetry posts..

i felt i need some private space to practice and started a wordpress blog...then i started to browse the themes and thought of a nice blog name...of course i wanted mr. linky to feel comfortable... he never felt comfortable though... but i did - somehow...and then i pressed the "magic button" (never do this without reading the instructions properly...) and wordpress started to import 338 posts and 5492 comments from S P L I T T E R G E W I T T E R to "jaywalking the moon"... I was speechless and felt a bit torn apart..

well - and then i thought it may be time to move on.. so i decided to continue my poetic journey over at "jaywalking the moon" .. hope to see you there...

helicopters

2011-04-28T16:55:00.001+02:00

falling from the trees,
we let them spin and drift
like sailors, drunk with gin,
watched them circling
towards the tongue of the river,
then.. disappear

faces hot with sweat
and dreams of the real ones,
smelling of big adventure,
Platoon - Apocalypse Now
and named Cobra,
Black Shark or Mangusta

They would take us
to places we saw on tv with
bold men fighting for what
we hoped was right and
all afternoon, dirty hands and

scratched hearts we let them
fall and fall until the sun came down
and our knees started bleeding

until the rotors spun in our heads
until we were almost there and
until the trees had lost all their seeds

linking up with emily at imperfect prose..

no winners left

2011-04-26T17:58:00.001+02:00

they say War Will Die

left bleeding

on the side of the street;

dust on blind men's blades,

still warm and

lips in sneers

They want to sing rosy cheeked

kids to sleep before

darkness reaches them

and the scent of steel still

on their tongues as they

lick their way up her

thighs to drink to life, to

shut out the swords, the spears,

the coughed blood and

the - he didn’t make it...

They greedily gulp

humid warmth, suck

parted lips, tasting freedom and

See the trenches in her softness

There are no
winners left

..woo hoo it's One Shot Wednesday again and the wonderful Adam Dustus will be your host tonight...write a poem and join us or just jump over to read what some fine poets brought to the table..sign up opens at 5 pm EST

the art of rolling down summer hills

2011-04-24T14:34:00.003+02:00

It wasn't that she was not used

to faceless alleys, clinically clean

or disgustingly dirty - just as life can get

and it wasn't that she was not used

to fight her way along the gangways

of some nightmares, side by side

with people she had met along the way

She shakes her head and pauses,

measures life in thirty minute slips

and they feel easy in the pockets of

her dressing gown

What really bothers her

is the lost art of rolling down these aisles

and make them smell like summer lawns

Remembering the scent

when flowers fell to dust in curly

hair, wrapping her nights with

deep blue summer groove - she sighs

Today, it's drugs and wheelchairs

standing in her way -

another thirty minute slip

She smiles a bit and turns her head,

wrinkles her nose and for a moment

she feels lightweight,

leaned against the wind, her world

getting green again

This poem is my response to the One Shoot Sunday Challenge. The above photo was shot by Canadian photographer Greg Laychak. Check out the interview over at One Stop and I can highly recommend to jump over to Greg's website to see more of his fantastic photography.

Miri

2011-04-23T10:46:00.002+02:00

the first rays of spring
bring you back,
freckled like Latte Macchiato
wet paint on your shirt.. nose..

brush in hand, dreaming
your bike summer green, dotted
with butterflies and your
smile tastes of
Ben & Jerry's

i sit on the edge of a tear,
wrinkle my nose, twinkle
dust from the sunshine
and hum, prepared for

......new colors

(just a sentimental moment when i saw my daughter Miriam's bike in the garage the other day...and she'll be back from bolivia in june...)

sunshine flash

2011-04-22T10:33:00.002+02:00

we share such things as salad, meat balls and
chick-yellow scrambled eggs, sitting in
the spring on wooden benches, inhaling

life smoldering fat as Cuban cigars,
roll it in our mouthes like russian Rs and
swallow greedily, moistened by german

beer and the rough music madness of a
Porsche nine eleven. I pick up the
vibrations, tame 'em with my tongue and let
them shake us to the brink of sunshine flash

this was last sunday in the black forest...family lunch and on the pic in the front is hubby with nephew..smiles

spring invasion/in berne/berne fusion

2011-04-19T18:34:00.002+02:00

i walk this bridge, splish smaragd waters

flow beneath,

a heavy current, sun

melting on skin

we meet in gothic heat,

smooth crumbling sandstone,

blurred reflections swimming green

and quiver soft as wind blown ripples

‘cross your opaque face and

did you know time is relative,

fleeting, tick-ing astronomical

when bears & fools

keep dancing through the night.

i never really touched this magic place,

so full of everything that lives in caves and towers,

restless, ground-lost worlds,

and when the bridge breaks down

i haven't learned to swim but

you are divin' up,

wading deep as rivers in me,

see the trees

spellin' your name

with bloom-thick tongues,

you smell of forests and i'm sure you know,

no need to rescue me, today i Am.

i was in Berne on business last week and was once more fascinated by the deep green water of the river Aare which flows around this beautiful 12th century town. the green color comes from the minerals of the glacier water which flows into the Aare.

..and yeah - it's poetry time - One Shot Wednesday again...a bustling and alive group of poets throw their best poems into the One Stop Pool and have fun together..you should join us..sign up opens at 5 pm EST

don't even think about it..

2011-04-17T09:51:00.007+02:00

don't even think about it

'til the words pile up and

you can't stop them any more

unless you'd kill 'em,

every single one with the point of your pen,

unless you would drown or die

if you'd refuse to let 'em come and

come like lovers in tight nights - but

you got stuck, the escalator

is not moving, blank steel laughs

into the poet's face &

in your eyes - still warm,

the remnants of last night.

out in the kitchen, oldies on the radio,

no bridge to

never ending metro lines and

faceless crowds with long expired tickets -

flashdance.

you smile and i think of Bukowski's words &

take another sip of coffee - black -

the stairway starts to move and somehow -

i feel drunk

This is my entry for the one shoot sunday picture prompt over at One Stop Poetry. The photo was shot by photographer and poet James Rainsford.

longing for light

2011-04-16T11:06:00.000+02:00

we have short days
and endless nights,

daylight rationed, tiny sips
of sun-strung power chords,
played madly on my heart

when darkness swallows

brittle bones
and turns my drunkenness to
hip-deep desperation. yes,

i am intoxicated by the sun's
soft glow and there are
acres full of light-soaked sheets,

crazy sweetness
under spicy sails,

my tongue screams fire,

sun-flamed on swiss lakes,
i long for longer days 'cos
nightly magic crumbles fast,
there is no spell to moons, wrapped

in pale light, i drift
and you can't hold me

don't move so fast

2011-04-14T20:12:00.000+02:00

i wonder if you can,
if you stand in the rain,
if you stop to move,
just allow

drippy drops
licking your ear
'til you hear
water's whispering

want, can you tell
the shape
of what flows
cool & damp
on your skin, feel 'em
sing of spring, notice
what key they're in, taste

thursday rain pear-sweet
on summer-soft tongues

knowing you know,
by the sparks in your eyes,
water-wet trees breathing sighs,
bent low, pressing their lips
into squishy earth,
quietly rooted

with stillness-wrapped wings watching
wantonly seeds give birth

...just a quiet spring moment...

beloved liberty

2011-04-12T19:29:00.002+02:00

Allons enfants de la Patrie
it was when spring bowed low
and kissed me silent on the Ill,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé
its waters wet with hope and

spreading nets of history across my face,
heart blooming light and red with summer juice,
with blossoms, swaying from the sky
like soldiers on a parachute, fall
in the waters of my soul, sparkling

like spears to fight and to defend
la Liberté chérie
dancing like ballerinas
to war tunes, songs of battlefields,
drunken from sparkling white crémant and
creamy, yellow mango ice, does
victory taste sweet, melt rich
and slowly on your tongue
or sour like grapes that never turned to wine,
spilled on the stone floors of dark cellars,
beastly betrayed and never

licking spring, dancing so gently
on my lips & eyes, finding its way alongside
soft-blue wind and timbered homes,
a silent witness of the past - Tremblés!
Combats avec tes défenseurs
we're passing power's cradle,
lying in beds of cherry blooms and
making love to justice, flowing
peaceful with the boat

towards an unknown goal
nous entrerons dans la carrière
equality and liberty, together,
three hundred sixty thousand liters
raised, released & watergates
let pass, we open - open wide the locks
humming along the song and blossoming
magnolias rain us into luscious lawn

That was when I was in Strasbourg/France lately on a boat trip on the river Ill, passing the European Parliament, the Palace of defense for human rights and thinking of the rich history of this place.

The italicized parts of the poem are extracts from the Marseillaise, the national anthem of France. The Marseillaise was written in Strasbourg by Claude Joseph Rouget de Lisle on the 26th of April 1792

Crémant is a famous sparkling wine in the Alsace region

Allons enfants de la Patrie (Go children of the fatherland)

Le jour de gloire est arrivé (The day of honor has come)

la Liberté chérie (Beloved liberty)

Tremblés! (Quiver)

Combats avec tes défenseurs (Fight with your defenders)

nous entrerons dans la carrière (We will continue to walk the paths of life)

linking up with One Shot Wednesday - a fantastic community of poets - you should visit..

intentional fallacy

2011-04-08T23:04:00.003+02:00

instead of
playing soccer versus palm trees,
romping like baby turtles over white-washed sand,
get wet in “love me ocean” arms

instead of
drinking your azure blue treasures
and drowning splish-splash in your boyish smile

life hit me
like an avalanche
one-fifty miles per hour
oxygenated suffocation
before we crash

snow-swept

haven't linked up with Galen's friday flash 55 for a while - but today i managed to say it in 55 words...

thirsty for life

2011-04-05T17:35:00.002+02:00

bowing low

next to B3, the road

which runs

from south to north, north to south

without ever breathing

or sighing or loving those who travel it.

he, grey hair, back bent in sorrow,

flowers in hand, small cross

morning, mourning

rips my heart raw, bloody

as we pass, blowing

fourteen meters swaying wind into his face,

then leaving him alone again,

touching concrete grief for seconds, wish

i knew the story

wish i could - hold him close,

laying down

blossoms of sadness, of hope

for the people i've lost on my way

to speed, to carelessness & lovelessness,

toss the driver from his seat, take

the steering wheel & turn on the wipers, erase the tears,

tears welling up like mean dwarves

and i long

for petals raining down,

for a cross to bow before and

an arm, wrapped 'round my heart,

telling it there's a new road,

another north to south, an

east to west and a hope

to find what gets lost

so easy at the side

of madness-covered routes

and i'm breathing, breathing tears and their taste,

salt on my lips

makes me thirsty for life

linking up with One Shot Wednesday - and i'm still on the road, still traveling - but will try to comment back by the end of the week...

frankfurt airport hotel lobby

2011-04-01T17:47:00.000+02:00

brown leather and the sound of trolleys
on the stone floor
where you come from and where
you go - it doesn't matter - really, you're
a name in an endless stream with a
fitting number,
hitting the keys, observing

the blonde with the heels, the long
haired guy, they're in love - he touches
her in places - right and thinks that
no one sees, i do, but i'm invisible behind a
screen, belonging to another world,
another life, time-less, i'm bored,
prepared, i'm sherlock holmes,

the guy from the reception smiles. is
everything - ok - of course, there's music
from afar, my feet tap "hotel
california" heaven, hell and all that's
in between, the guitar makes me sigh 'cos
there's always a flight to be on and
always a flight to miss, yeah
he looks - american - he is, checks
in and out and disappears like he has never
lived and my notebook is warm
on my thighs

yeah - i'm on a business trip and probably need some time for the commenting back...see you..

'cos ya make me

2011-03-31T19:03:00.002+02:00

at times i
just fall, out
of the blue
and drop -
into you,
there’s danger
to drown, to forget

what’s around
and beyond
sunken seas,
funky bliss
drags me deep
until i

can't breathe,
until i scream softly,
you glow,
flow perilously low
with lips, spelling
peace, sucking
stormy relief
‘til i sigh, 'til i cry,

get lost in the ponds
of your eyes, drizzling
aqua and white,
watermark life,
gambling high,
trading oxygen for
an ace - lucky streak

& storming cleft peaks,
thousand miles
from the shore,
we've outrun
the sun,
diving deeper i
hum in
your froth
(‘cos - ya make me)

Tubular Bells

2011-03-29T21:30:00.003+02:00

there was no music in the air,

not really,

just the sound of a sound

which made me mad

'cos i hoped i would find

not sure what but

kept scanning tunes and

endless minutes nothing

but highway, agression

and the sense of a drug i didn't take

and don't understand, dazing

emissions fog,

mingle with sun

and the smell makes me vomit

spring-bound winds

sneakin' onto my shoulders,

crawl up my arms and i

need it louder,

force gears, heat up, windows down

and stuck in the middle,

clueless moves - from and to

i don't know and don't care

when he spells - music, questions

with mellow voice,

words and more words and

that's where it starts,

there it is,

magic, it plays, it is me - again

on the map, out on the street,

close to the sound and

somehow,

it made sense again

ok - this was me in the car last week when i drove back home from work, listening to Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells - and yes - i was in a strange mood..

linking up with One Shot Wednesday - and - woo-hoo - yesterday in NYC we won the Shorty Award in Art.. thanks to all of you for your votes, your support and for being around and making One Stop Poetry what it is!

Made of spectral white - a Rondel

2011-03-28T05:33:00.002+02:00

when rainbow hazes wrap us in
soft tissues, made of spectral white,
my sense turns liquid, drinkin' night’s
moist breath, i feel exposed and thin,

take cautious steps towards the rim
and balance on diffusing light
when rainbow hazes wrap us in
soft tissues, made of spectral white

so soar upon cleft edges, spin
and glide, do love me mad and fight
this slipping groove, we reach the height
just as our shapes fade pale and slim
when rainbow hazes wrap us in.

today we're having part II of our Rondel teaching over at One Stop Poetry. have a look, write a Rondel and join us!

Rondel structure:
ABba
abAB
abbaA

all the way down

2011-03-24T21:35:00.007+01:00

it's not about spanish tunes, lost

on the floor, hidden in loops on the carpet,

bouncing back from deaf, tired walls like

boozed soldiers when the battle is won.

it's about fighting, losing and feeling

black lashes brush soft on pale skin and

letting you kiss me all the way down to the

ground, the earth, the real where it started,

where i get quiet, where i feel your strength

burn my night until i can smell again, until

it tastes right, until it was not, it was never

anything else but you & me on the floor

in the silence, the dark and getting lost on

your lips with what you call love - and it is.

burn

2011-03-22T18:20:00.002+01:00

you're counting in,
bright colors
flood in streams, run
through your hands,
brush licks

across my face,
you're on - a beat
there's no escape,
diving the caves,
filled with the mercy
of your waves,
played hard

and drag me on
vast space, knees
givin' in, unregulated shake,
riding your lust,
forget the past, suck with
covetous lips,
there is

no handrail
on this bridge
you've choked my depths,
awash with tears,
sense fingers
moving fast,

riffs blast,
scorching the night
flame-swept,
just scaffolds left,
all flashpoints
crashed,

give in
to groove-strings,
lashed
with yearning,
to pacing drums and
brittle winds,
my clothes
already burning.

it's OneShotWednesday again and i'm happy to host this week's poetry party. come, write a poem and join this bunch of amazingly talented people over at One Stop. Sign up opens at 5 pm EST

your heart's iambic - a Rondel

2011-03-21T05:56:00.001+01:00

your heart's iambic all the way
da DUM, da DUM it grooves - you hear
sweet tapping music rolling near?
upon your chest, a tender sway

of rhythmic waves, they flood your bay
wade into you, then disappear
your heart's iambic all the way
da DUM, da DUM it grooves - you hear

their scuttling feet dance vast astray,
go stressed, unstressed without a fear
tip-toe the beat from then to here
i' m wrapped inside this rap today
your heart's iambic all the way

Rondel:
ABba
abAB
abbaA

This and next Monday at One Stop Poetry Form, we're going to have a close look at Rondels - some history - some technical information - some writing tips. Jump over there to read and join us..

it was more

2011-03-20T13:01:00.009+01:00

it was more starting than landing,
don't you think?
all those years,
feathers to stone,
dipped gently into
gold-soaked midday glow
like biscuits
in hot chocolate

until they almost fall apart
like we
and with rough tongues
tasting of smooth
and timeless moments,
when history gets wings
and starts with stony lungs
to breathe again.

you're never ready
for that special time, for
capturing the tender magic
until it's shot and usually
i find it in your eyes
just when i spread
my wings,
don't you think
it was more,
it was more starting than landing

this poem is my response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. The prompt was shot by photographer & poet James Rainsford. He is the featured artist today on One Stop Poetry.

free fall

2011-03-17T21:08:00.001+01:00

just the two of us were left,
busy hotel breakfast room;
amidst blackberry jam and
scrambled eggs,
you began to talk of passion,

of diving through the sky
which kept you going all those years
when you were struggling
with the illness
because you loved
the falling free while being bound
to something
you could never shake off

around us, people moved - i didn't
you told me how
her parachute got tangled up,
you knew, there's not a perfect safety,
but in a way
you never thought it could be real
when she got smashed
before your eyes

my eggs turned cold,
reflections of your pain in lukewarm coffee
and i have never found the words
to bring us back to business, falling dead
as we hit crashed sky

Sakura

2011-03-15T18:13:00.009+01:00

you feed me
on raw fish
when our world’s
upside down,
chaos around,
people drown, small
as bugs in the
sink
while forces of
nature
grow tall and
blossoming cherries bleed,
spilling red, white -
hopes like vomit on
shaking ropes,
will they hold?
sing, sing sakura ‘cos
spring
is just ‘round
the corner
miwatasu kagiri - as far as i can see
destruction
kasumi ka kuma ka - like fog, like clouds
descending, tears
blind my eyes,
close to the coast
the giants crack loose
and still
nioi zo izuru - the scent, the colors
of strength in the air
raining rosy,
holding my fear
izaya izaya - let’s go,
let - go,
bow low and pray
for the melting to stop and
you feed me on
sushi
‘til I’m silent, ‘til
I know, hana zakari - blossoming time
is close

Sakura - the japanese cherry blossom is one of the most important symbols in japanese culture. It's an omen of good fortune, new beginnings, beauty and also a metaphor for the fleeting nature of life.

yep - and it's OneShotWednesday again - come, write a poem and join us or just enjoy to meet a group of amazingly talented people over there. Sign up opens at 5 pm EST

smoking them silent

2011-03-13T12:53:00.007+01:00

they still call you,
these voices, you say, feeling
hoarse like abrasive belts
thick and full with
their lust
and you never
got rid of that scent
of sweat, of need,
find release
for the pain, insane
when they held you close
to the ground, buried hard
beneath the weight of their grunts,
madness floods,
ejaculates fast until
nothing was left
to deafen that smell
it helps
to burn them slowly, you say
in your mouth - one after one - all
at once, don't stop 'til you're at ease, 'til
they burn your lips and glassy blisters
flaming release
until they can't touch,
until they roll to the edge
until they let go 'cos
you smoked them low
and supine

This poem is my response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. The prompt was shot by photographer Fee Easton, featured today on One Stop Poetry.

talking winter away

2011-03-10T22:23:00.001+01:00

mind heavy with tasks,
i walked
next to all i
should've done,
didn't do and - never will

Josh Redman, breathing,
easing the pain and
winter-end wind
in my hair as you
bike along,
touching spring
sparkling like fairies, skating
the edge of a dream and
life jumped - jumped
smooth as a cat
to my shoulders and
in the brown of your eyes

i died - like flies at
the end of summer 'cos
i came from afar - a sailor,
homeless, a wanter and

Josh turned silent -
as we walked back home,
side by side, talking winter
away

went for a walk after finishing work today and was listening to Joshua Redman, one of my fav Sax players when I met my 16 year old daughter on the way..

jaywalk

2011-03-08T18:32:00.001+01:00

it's one of those days
which feel as wrong as
brushing teeth left-handed or
playing well-known pieces
backwards on your sax

when you wish
you hadn't exchanged
the warmth of your bed for a world,
demanding to be more alive
than dreams, you dreamt
a minute back

the earth shakes
at the wrong places,
the floods always drown
the wrong people
and listening to B. Marsalis makes me cry, so
where d'ya think you got lost?

somewhere amidst
those scattered coos
beyond the rearview mirror, you're
glimpsing at the road, you travelled
and ahead is rain

you're swearing,
ready to shoot this early morning mood
with all its steel-blanc desperation,
its ugliness and shameless spell but

your phone is tied to the ether,
keeps you confronted with a world,
you're not one waveline with
which doesn’t care enough
and don't deserve
being commented back

and in the shade,
you practise silly smiles
while lonely tumbling air waves
jaywalk tired streets

it's OneShotWednesday again - hosted by american poet Adam Dustus this week - come, write a poem and join us or just enjoy to meet a group of amazingly talented people over there. Sign up opens at 5 pm EST

the hope you carry

2011-03-07T22:11:00.002+01:00

Today I'm featured at Photograph Prose.
Photograph prose is a "virtual gym", a space designed for the collaboration of stylistic strangers where photographers post their images and meet poets who write about what they see in one of their photos...my poem was inspired by an image of the tremendously talented photographer CJ Schmidt.
Hope to see you there...

you fell apart like
some roads do
at the end of the rain
and our sun turned dark
for an instant.

there were blisters
on your feet, for
you’d been trekking
too long on desolate trails,
rode empty. and I -
yearned to kiss you
sane but

with dreamy eyes
you smiled hazes
like tender cobwebs
(caught in my hair)
‘cos you knew that,

at the end of your path
was no rot
nor pain
but miles and miles of
soft sand, rippled smooth
by the beat of life and
kept warm
with the hope you carry

the end of the show

2011-03-06T14:13:00.000+01:00

you took me to the end of
the show, script bleeding red
on dusty, wooden planks and
you were smiling - standing
ovations, "it's over" you said,
endless relief in watery eyes.
you know (just a whisper),
it was never about bright
painted platforms and the
soft sway of red velvet drapes,
opening, closing, lying crimson
into the face of the easy to hurt.
no, your settings were the
creeping bugs in your brain, which
drove you to spit and to spit
those words along beaded seats,
full of hopes and wants and
greedy nightmare magic, dreamlessly,
repeat & repeat and -
make them feel the way they
want, but can't bear - and who,
you said, could?

This is my response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. The prompt was shot by photographer Jacob Lucas. He is featured today on One Stop Poetry.

in case you ask

2011-03-05T20:00:00.000+01:00

i've closed my eyes
and next to me is night

i'm not asleep
just feel for my voice
in the silence

on top of that hill,
i've spread wings,

soul shrunk small,
almost invisible,
safely wrapped
by a gentle wind

and beyond the clouds,
an echo away
from where it started,
lingers life
in case you ask

when i read Rilke

2011-03-01T18:10:00.000+01:00

it’s the beating of my heart,
pulsing distant drums
through the fog of artist’s words,
which feel like coming home,

when reading tastes
of being fed
with delish-ious blackprint noshes,
watching moist ink drip
from quivering lips,
bewitched with wondrous treasure,
resonate ring, wide wing bells
from your heart's cathedral

do savor them
until your eyes shine bright
and passion blows upon your fields
as wind-swept hay before it
comes to rest in tousled hair

I want to lick the letters from this page
they, melting like chocolate on my tongue,
flooding my veins with cutting
edge imagery, traversing red corpuscles
to every far out orbit,

forever trace you with my fingertips
like a demanding lover,
sensing mad sensations of exploring foreign ground
until you scream and melt
into my labor pains
and ink has mingled with my blood
in some mysterious, secret dance,

i start to breathe again,
the world has changed

Rainer Maria Rilke is my favorite of the old poets in the German speaking landscape. I'm doing a spotlight on him and the "A Year with Rilke" blog over at One Stop Poetry today and with the above poem, I try to describe how I feel when reading his fantastic work..

Linking up with Oneshotwednesday - sign up opens 5 pm EST - would be great you join us..

literary fights - a Rondel

2011-02-27T10:16:00.000+01:00

wild circling dots dance mad inside my head
whirl pirouetting ink into my night
like wack, black drizzling shade descends my flight
on thin-print, spill-tint letters overfed

and white gowned sheets, soaked blue and pink, drip dead
in copious and literary fights
while circling dots dance mad inside my head,
whirl pirouetting ink into my night

swarm life towards me, turn my broken sad -
tuned song, tie-dye those night knit writing plight
let broken warp threads glitter with delight,
twitch, groan and scream under the words i bled
while circling dots dance mad - inside my head

Rondel structure:
ABba
abAB
abbaA

Together with Samuel Peralta, I'll be teaching Rondels on March 14th and 21st at One Stop Poetry Form - hope to see you there

This Rondel is my response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. The prompt was shot by photographer JackAZ, featured today on One Shoot Photography Sunday.

you were Aragorn

2011-02-25T21:50:00.002+01:00

i called you Shakespeare, that's roughly
what your name translates to.
we met in Munich for the weekend
some time after dead end summer love
'cos letters never bridged the winter.

small village and you didn't fit in,
dreamer, vagabond and Tolkien fan,
we sat talking books for hours,
smoking Camel, walking barefoot,
laughing summer into wings, glued tight to
country lanes and bloomed between
black printed sheets, Tubular bells and the
all-knowing smiles of small town gossip.
for a long time, i met no one
who could kiss like you.

we had no money and the room, we spent
the night was small, electric waves were
creeping up the walls like roaches.
i sometimes wondered how it would have
been, whispered rhymes into my ears while
tossing me towards the Shire. but you were
Aragorn and you had promised
not to touch me,

so nothing happened, yet everything changed,
i got lost in the eyes of the prince,
and for a long time didn't find the exit.

this poem was inspired by some memories, hitting me like a rocket when reading Anton Gourman's poem "In July 2003"

you still hear the music

2011-02-22T18:33:00.000+01:00

today, it lost
its adventurous smell, the kind you inhale
deep, smell again and again until
you're drunk, excessively hungry or satisfied
and your nose gets dry from aspirating
the danger-soaked rifts of kilimanjaro

where i danced, high from heights and
barefoot in heels, snow icing on skin,
pure thrill of holy moments running
the veins, doping me through the night
when we

ran out of snow, music stopped dead and
instead of dancing the ups, i mourn the lows,
touch my fear like alienated lovers in thin nights
and where shall we go from here? this child

was lost in its play, cherries in soft ice, hid beneath
piles 'n piles of cream, dream and
keep on kid i say, don't watch the night come close,
how it swallows your heart and you die
crimson, wet and lonely on the tops of your hills.

take this pen, write about fighting hard and
fish-like gasping dreams, soaked salty and slick
with your tears, spilled - like vomit now;
dig the snow girl and find those heels
cause you hear, you still hear
the music

i'm linking up with One Stop Poetry - come and join us, meet some crazy poets and spend some fantastic, poetic time together. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

street summer

2011-02-20T13:47:00.004+01:00

it was one of those street summers
when the heat of a perspiring city
robs you of your mind and glues
you to the pavements, when tons of
ice cream drip from children's lips
and mingle with the lingering dust
on sun baked concrete.

we danced the fountains with
wet hair as i watched cheeky freckles
bloom - dots of love in your sunburnt
face; braille to be decoded
with my finger tips. your white shirt
was nothing but business and your
lips, smooth liquid in a thirsty land.

i sucked your coolness
on a planet of our own, touched only
peripherally by the barking of
summer-odd dogs and a mad, yearning
violin, played by the Darth Vaders on
the corners of our carefree now,
just when the rain set in and with the heat,

it swallowed our fountains, made your
freckles fade pale and cleaned damp
asphalt from the burning traces of your
salty lips on my neck.

This poem is my response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. The prompt was shot by photographer JackAZ, featured today on One Shoot Photography Sunday.

fragility

2011-02-18T17:30:00.003+01:00

tonight
is about pages of unread books,
sparks left on busy streets

when i break
into fragments of what i am,
what i fear, want,
hide & hope

and you love me until morning,
until rays of light
split our pride into tiny stains,

until you no longer
call me a foe
and what stands between us
stays back on the floor,
scattered clothes.

breathing blue, drunken dreams,
soaked in kisses like wine
we drink greedily,
with love-rough lips,
from broken glasses.

.

blackbird

2011-02-15T18:17:00.000+01:00

he chirps into my day's gray,
black charcoaled wings
against the fade-out
of an azure sky, dripping
ebony into my lunch break.

dim eyes sink softly
into darkest gowns, rest blanc beneath
smooth feather pools, dive deep until
i quiver - synchronize our hearts
and soothing feathers
wrapping me, stirred hungry

for blue mountain tops, i disappear
without a trace in sable patches “call it freedom",
melting - melting with the sky.

stopped talking long ago,
dying of hunger
from the food on my plate

what was it about flying?
on pale days,
a pulsing body next to mine,
without fearing the storm's sway,
singin' voiceless songs, cascade into
the sun's bright heart, ride stormy breezes
into emptiness and color-drunk, we mock
the paleness of a fading now, he chirps

into the gray of my day,
black charcoaled wings against the
wash-out of an azure soul and

when he flew away, i hid
beneath his wings;

and left in the canteen - behind

some lonely crumbs
on a half empty plate

(if you wanna hear me read it, click on the above player)

i have the pleasure to be the host of this weeks fantastic One Stop Poetry - party - put on you swim suit and join us for a deep dive into poetry...sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

drip - drip - dreamless

2011-02-13T14:38:00.008+01:00

it's not about framing us in you said, it's
about shelter and staying focused, about
listening to whispers of grain and staring

blue skies even bluer until smooth, endless
azure floats, like medical infusions, silently
into your veins, so drip - drip - dreamless,

coloring your red blood featherlight and
make white clouds sway on your soul. you
know, i trade love to split you open, to

make you feel the vastness of the land,
tumble drunken on the brink of the moon,
balancing piled rocks with scratched toes and

that's bullshit you say with clouded eyes,
sweat soaking your clothes with streams
of defeat & you water drowned gardens while

she's playing the piano in her night gown
inside - always - inside and none of us
ever looked back.

this poem is my response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. One Shoot Photography Sunday, shot by photographer Sean McCormick

lost on your lips - an octain

2011-02-12T20:03:00.001+01:00

i'm lost in softness on your lips
it’s never more than just a light
and tender touch which holds the night

from secret wells where silence drips
i touch the seams of pillowed dreams
behind the veil this moment fits

and like a moth i stir your flight
i'm lost - in softness on your lips

The Octain is a new poem form, just recently created by Luke Prater

Structure of an Octain is:
eight lines as two tercets and a couplet, eight syllables per line with the first line repeated (as much as possible) as the last. Meter is iambic or trochaic tetrameter, but fine to just count eight syllables per line for those who prefer that.

Rhyme scheme:

A-b-b
a-c/c-a
b-A

(A = repeated refrain line. 'c/c' refers to line five having midline (internal) rhyme, which is different to the a- and b-rhymes)

...and i'm linking up with One Stop Poetry's - St. Valentines celebration. join us and share your love poems..

sleepwalker

2011-02-10T21:07:00.005+01:00

your steps on the floor
make me count minutes,
heartbeats and years, gone by
like rush hour trains. fighting sleep
and listening to your late night
sound - the music, microwave
and beeping of your phone.

i peel out of bed like
an orange to sleepwalk upstairs
where you smell of metal, pizza
and the lavish warmth of youth,
kiss your astonished smile and
just hold you close for a while.
next morning

i will read on facebook,
there's nothing better than
returning late & tired from a
hard day's work and sleepy mom
creeps out of bed just so, to kiss
and say she loves you.. and nine
of your cool friends will have
pressed the "like" button

poets

2011-02-08T17:11:00.003+01:00

hunting words to fit a viscous,
fragile mood - fragmented sky and
messy clouds, we're tastin'

ink, touch my skin - tornado,
cobweb or a twinkling eye, the
artist's brush, wet oil, alone - we
fly, dark dancer on an empty

stage, crave, make 'em love us, no
regret, so tear my flesh, press heavy
on my soul and move
inside the turbine of my breath

these verse will win us, tear
our seam and spark; ejaculate
into our heart, splash torrents, lust-
washed cries, we scream the words
that toss and flood our aisles -
whitewater - clingin', squirmin' - short

of breath we close this bleeding gap
of unreached stars
to shattered smallprint
amongst rumpled sheets

A special request of all tweeting readers...we are in the running for a Shorty Award over at One Stop Poetry...only some days left to go. So if you tweet, please tweet a vote for us in the #art category...matter of fact, go HERE and vote for...
@OneStopPoetry in #art because...(you must give a reason) we create community in art, we promote youth poetry or whatever you think we do well...

i'm linking up with One Stop Poetry - come and join us, meet some fantastic people over there, dive deep and get breathlessly poetic. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

hex# d02090

2011-02-06T12:42:00.007+01:00

i saw it in your eyes,
hurt - turning wild, an empty
madness, color-coded, RED is
leaping, seeping from below
your brows into the dark and
outsold night, scan life for veils
to shade, so no one sees that
you have filled your black
with brittle lies of home
and windswept grain, denying
your existence. poor, i saw it -
in your eyes, pushing you back &
run to find my own deep purple just
in time before the rain sets in

color codes:

hex# ff0000 is the color code for the red inside the house

hex# d02090 is the color code for the deep purple grain

this poem is my response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. One Shoot Photography Sunday. the amazing prompt was shot by photographer Sean McCormick

keep breakin' free

2011-02-04T19:27:00.001+01:00

steps, small steps, we
count petals and rats
it's your breath
on my face
makes me sing,
slow, go, watch
giants grow and
fear cuts our wings
like we flee, is it
you, me? we see
keep & keep movin'
jump, tuning loves turn,
dry hearts burn
fierce on real zeal, we
gulp life, strife &
achin' dreams means
keep breakin'
free

..so this was my take on today's hip hop prompt at One Stop Poetry
listen to the above music while reading the poem and then jump over to let brian miller tell you how hip hop was born..

@ the hairdresser

2011-02-04T12:01:00.003+01:00

both of us tired and
dizzy shadows fall slow
as sleepwalker, dissolving
gently on scattered haircut.
your first client, 6 a.m. was
a russian bride you couldn’t
understand while you weaved
her hair into marriage braids,
same time when I dealt biz with
japan; our sleep stored safe in
long sleeves while you cut and
our eyes, two pair of misty veil
as they cross paths in the mirror,
knowing, we’ll be home
soon.

worker blues

2011-02-01T05:37:00.001+01:00

A3, early morning,
mon to fri-day, same route,
eating miles,
we speed limits.
our shapes and restraints alike.

soaked with dark-gray tunes we drive &
act responsible.

deep wrinkles round tired eyes,
heads heavy with to-do's,
the sun - left years ago.

our morning darkness has no
sparks and shades
as headlights cut the distance
radio humming.

and maybe all our music, all our sighs
would scribble history if played
high volume, same-time, open windows

but this, we never do,
muted sighing and hushed we play

our silence sprinkles cold on rough concrete,
paints asphalt wet & dark with worker blues

and prints lonely road marks on our deep blue,
ocean yearning souls

just about to leave for a business trip, so my commenting back will be delayed until thursday evening...

i'm linking up with One Stop Poetry - you should come and join us, meet some fantastic people over there and dive deep into poetry. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

burglars - a ballad

2011-01-31T12:35:00.001+01:00

tscha - boom - ba - beat the rhythm, drum
where do we go from here?
rough songs, wild winged winds set us free
and fade, raid, disappear

into the dark, the night, the slum
illusion crash, severe
and through the blurry fog i see
the burglars coming near

tscha - boom - ba - beat heat, off we run
and shout out brave and clear
this driving pace is you and me
and music’s all we hear

Today's teaching at One Stop Poetry form is on ballads - jump over to read more or why not write a ballad and join us..?

a ballad's structure is
A-B-C-B
8 – 6 – 8 – 6 syllables, written in iambic meter

13:27

2011-01-30T14:13:00.005+01:00

standin' in the kitchen,
coffee in hand and with the
dishwasher humming comes the sea,
a gentle breeze;
pizza rests, crumbling my view
and salt on my lips, i dive
the moment with
black coffee bitter on my tongue.

not that far from the ocean as
dreams of wet sand on my toes lull me
in and outside is winter waves,
dragging my footprints
to the deep, the base, the ground, the

well and the black where it all started;
your marks, etched on my skin like
sunburn. i finish coffee and smell
the salt, it tastes as -
i lick my lips and it's 13:27, high time
- to leave

The following poem is offered in response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. This wonderful prompt was shot by photographer Iquanyin Moon, featured today on One Shoot Photography Sunday. Come check out some great shots & the interview by Chris Galford!

love force

2011-01-28T21:07:00.005+01:00

                                                  red heat
                                                  in your voice
                                                  burns my lips,
                                                      makes magic spin
                                                      through my brain
                                                      when it stops
                                              dead and
                                              music falls
                                              silent like
                                                    we do when
                                                    you drink me
                                                    like wine
                                                    bent over
                                                    the well of
                                                   forever to be,
                                            soothe my flames
                                            with your tongue,

                                                   spread wings wide and

                                               from heaven we fall,

                                               cascading the night,
                                               consuming
                                               the canvas we
                                               paint on with
                                                     bold strokes
                                                     soaking dry sheets
                                                     with slow dripping sweat
                                                     give up
                                                     fear and
                                                     risk
                                                     trust

photo credit for this amazing picture: Jonas Gerard
Jonas Gerard Fine Arts is a working studio/gallery located in the River Arts District of Asheville, North Carolina. If you would like to see more of Gerard’s artwork or read more of his story please visit their website.

black socks

2011-01-28T05:45:00.000+01:00

trophies
of a working week,
piled on
the bedroom floor
like artwork,
a tower of sweat,

profit or loss
& raw mornings,
scratching dark sky
cotton-smooth,
growing moonwards

& somedays i dream
i'd buy the world
sock-empty,
black wool
off-thread &

feather-free
i unbalance my soul

& walk barefoot
for the rest of my days

give it a try and say it in 55 words.. i'm linking up with galen for
g-man's friday flash 55

the way you breathe

2011-01-25T17:03:00.001+01:00

i'm as night as one can be
staring stars out of the darkness
trying to cut my thoughts
with the scissors of sleep
but it won't come.

my mind runs restless
like caged moths - fluttering
on and on. i want to stab it
and i hear you breathe, regular
binomial formula, deep
as a song, lullaby - yes and
i feel your presence, warm,

familiar and drinking the
magic, i want you to feel me,
wake you up in the middle
of my craziness, drag you
to the moon - a pale one
and feel your sleepy body close
to where my restlessness

meets home. i want you
to love me calm, rock me into
sleep, breathe me silent this
moment before our night turns
and the paleness of the moon
fades with the daylight coming
closer.

i'm linking up with One Stop Poetry - write a poem, join us and meet some fantastic people over there. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

A special request of all tweeting readers...we are in the running for a Shorty Award over at One Stop Poetry...currently in second place with one week to go. So if you tweet, please tweet a vote for us in the #art category...matter of fact, go HERE and vote for...

@OneStopPoetry in #art because...(you must give a reason) we create community in art, we promote youth poetry or whatever...

become, become..

2011-01-24T06:33:00.000+01:00

a stream like colored drops of rain
springs from its well in tender heaps
become, become, not merely claim

a painter - and i paint in vain
my rainbow sparkles as it weeps
a stream like colored drops of rain

how can i stand this sizzling pain
no shapeless slow-go, jerky leaps
become, become, not merely claim

my dream is spilled out to maintain
the low, the flow - and on it creeps
a stream like colored drops of rain

life seemed so easy to regain
live for the day and play for keeps
become, become, not merely claim

and in the end, what will remain
when drop by drop your pencil seeps?
a stream like colored drops of rain
become, become, not merely claim

We have a second Villanelle round running over at One Stop Poetry's new Poetry form class.

Join us for a closer look at this musical poetry form, evolving from italian country songs and with a structure, dating back to the 16th century.

bob mintzer live last saturday

2011-01-18T18:35:00.002+01:00

(John Riley - Drums; Bob Mintzer - Sax;
Ingmar Heller - Bass; Olaf Polziehn - Piano)

not more than a drum beat away
they live and breathe
jazz, dripping,
splashing across the room,
froth against closed eyes

lost in their play like children before
growing up-beat - off-beat
down - my spine - heat

yesterday's gone and tomorrow's
just an empty date, they count -
strokes - a world in a wave
when we find wings again,

making love, fully clothed,
kissing steel strings in tender
moves, bent towards
ebony keys, caressing,
glissando - staccato - pearls and
strings of beads enticed out of
a black giant's mouth

naked souls press hard against
shining brass and drumheads,
dragging us further - along
until we stop to breathe and
bleed, bleed rhythm and

music spills across
the room, soaking our souls
and every far-out corner and
we covet, we crave and beg

it to fuck us - hard and
tender and full, licked by a
groove-oozing madness
jammed against the wall – flying, flying
- until we're empty.

this was my saturday evening - listening to those top notch musicians which were playing just next town to where i live...
and i link up with - woo-hoo - One Stop Poetry - write a poem, join us and meet some fantastic people over there. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

Due to some travelling I may be a bit delayed with commenting back...just to let you know..

STREET BEAT - a Villanelle

2011-01-17T05:47:00.000+01:00

my heart falls silent with a heavy beat
a set of rhythms, closed in by the night
it’s street I think, and street I know I need

solidified and burnt by crimson heat
exploding fractions, fading out of light
my heart falls silent with a heavy beat

I hit dark ground, a used & down-played reed
a trumpet blow with heavy, forceful might
it’s street I think, and street I know I need

rush, rush, time drifts away with racecar speed
I’m loosing it, with rescue out of sight
my heart falls silent with a heavy beat

through shouted tunes with bass drum pace you seep
catchin' my fall, you blow away the night
it’s street I think, and street I know I need

weird words of weakness rapped from empty sheets
I suffocate and long to end this fight
my heart falls silent with a heavy beat
it’s street I think, and street I know I need

We have a new Poetry Form Class running over at One Stop Poetry.

This and next Monday we have a close look at the Villanelle - some history - some technical information - some writing tips. Jump over there to read and join us..

Villanelle Structure

A1-b-A2

a-b-A1

a-b-A2

a-b-A1

a-b-A2

a-b-A1-A2

strawberry kiss

2011-01-16T09:54:00.008+01:00

we throw
shadows

&
your lips taste
strawberry-red.

humming
forever songs,
you promise ice cream
when winter comes

frosted with the flavor
of your kiss

Linking up with Monkey Man today (yes - i said it in 160 characters) and with the One Shoot Sunday picture prompt at One Stop Poetry. Jump over to read the interview with photographer Katherine Forbes who took this beautiful picture.

sustained

2011-01-14T08:16:00.003+01:00

dripping
grooves

sustained
on
your neck
got ya
beat-filled

(& how does love sound)

always
high pitched
hard riffed

with you
& us

filled up
string-rapt
tab-kept

(& what makes us move stressed)

gently
thumb-plucked
scale-rocked

(getting real - getting on)

all ways
with you
and us
drag me

lick-switched
be-witched
skywards

a music prompt in 55 words..
i'm linking up with Galen for g-man's friday flash 55 and with
the One Stop Poetry music prompt - join us, write a poem inspired by the breath-taking guitar piece "Always with me, Always with you" by Joe Satriani

glassy ground

2011-01-11T05:53:00.000+01:00

i tumble drunken
amongst blue smoked clouds,
blurring heavens,
webs of heavy tangling wants
as you part - my lips, moist
with a sultry summer rain

(and the birds in my head
start to dance), sparkling tango
towards the black of your eyes,
entering - tight.
and dreamy, giggling fairies
tip-toe rainbow upwards,

slow spelled whispers
dripping raw,
silent moves,
hangin' on to the wind in awe,
we're emptying wells
of cloudy wetness,
lurch to nowhere - pulsing.

drums beat rhythms
out of breath - staccato
like hawks in the dawn,
you rise,
melt my screams, warm
with summer sun blues

and butterflies swarm,
scented with the mossy green
of deep, deep ponds.

i scratch damp skin,
clutching as we climb high
and sucking black currant lips
i sense the night come close.

viscous nocturns washin' me silent,
you part - part my world,
swallowing shades which cry storm
as we crash to pieces
on glassy ground.

tonight i'll be your host at One Stop Poetry - write a poem, join us and meet some fantastic people over there. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

walking gray into crimson

2011-01-09T12:47:00.000+01:00

i walk gray into crimson,
cold loneliness touches red sky
with bare feet,
i've lost and lost my dance shoes

somewhere on the way
of shouldn't and wouldn't,
hard plaster on naked souls.
will you paint the sky into

red dripping cherries or
wash my dreams - blue?
as i walk and i walk gray -
into crimson

this was written for the one shoot sunday picture prompt over

at One Stop Poetry wanna join us..?

photo credit: “KJ” Halliday

a grass green moment

2011-01-06T22:00:00.000+01:00

i need a rest,

a grass green moment
in a purple dress

a heart to beat against mine
da - dumm - da - dumm

a veil of pollen spread on my eyes
and lightblue tunes
singing soft songs

breathing against my breast
netting my lips with moist
morning dew, e r u p t i n g

when our tongues start to dance
flamenco

yeah - try and say it in 55 words.. i'm linking up with galen for g-man's friday flash 55

(..and in case you care for a read, click the above player)

archaeological

2011-01-04T06:12:00.000+01:00

(want me to read it to you..?)

it's a bit like looking at a blue world,
reflecting in christmas tree balls when
small candles lost sparkling illusiveness

or like never really wanting to live -
breathless, having hopes pegged out like
washing in warm summer sun and

cherry blossoms falling silently like
snow, like snowing, snowing us in. me
blowing the wrong blues cause i forgot

the scales and the reed gets weak
and you, painting the sky indigo with
hands, reaching for discarded stars

when meteoroids fall with us, splashing
colors, fat and yellow as lemons under
brazilian sun and juices, juices dripping

from evergreen trees and get lost on dry
ground - like we lost - and we lost - so much.
i dig earth, typing records of crusted pieces of

where, when and how it began, spread on
blankets under vast skies, add figures, tags,
dust 'em with a dash of daisy seeds -

and wait.

i'm linking up with One Stop Poetry - write a poem, join us and meet some fantastic people over there. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

a snowflake Haiku

2011-01-03T18:24:00.000+01:00

snowflakes tumble down

dancing like girls in blue skirts

frosted with wonder

There's a new Monday feature at One Stop Poetry where we will explore different poetic forms. For two Mondays this will be Haiku, a traditional japanese form of poetry with a typical syllable counting of 5-7-5. Jump over to read about it and if you like, link up with your own Haiku..

where we crumble

2011-01-01T12:28:00.004+01:00

we dip, dip
christmas cookies
into sweet hot

chocolate and
your eyes have
the same brown.

chatting pebbles
and gems, watchin'
sixteen years

sail small like
drifting crumbs,
sinking slowly

to where we are,
and i hold your
smile, sending

chocolate puffs
wrapping your heart
while you talk

and we dip, dip,
mother & daughter,
tiny, precious

new years crumbs
into steaming
sweetness

..just a lovely mother & daughter moment with my youngest one..and i'm linking up with
One Stop Poetry. join us and share your new years moments, pics, poetry..

silvester

2010-12-31T00:03:00.001+01:00

tonight we dance,
dance the year

like firework
like moonwalker
like emulsion

neglect where we come from,
forget where we go

hang on to the stars with
odd smiles; silent orbits
washing down,

rubbing eternity with
skinned elbows, emptying

all our pockets
to be filled, filled again
once we land or choose, drifting

in space..

what can you say in 55 words? i'm linking up with g-man's friday flash 55

Wishing you all a fantastic start into 2011!

..and i write brown to stay earthed

2010-12-28T16:57:00.000+01:00

want me to read it to you?

suddenly i can't
see the world any more, letters
pile up like a storm surge,
pressing hard

against the walls
of my heart, shouting
for release, colored
black, blue, red, green, pink and i

write brown to stay earthed, watch the ink
drip, flow, emerge, forming streams,
puddles, rows and the birds in
my head start humming, all drunken and

easy feathers, wings against my brain,
long to fly, surf, conquer
vast skies and i open, open
doors, bind letters to balloons

with purple thread and watch
'em leave, yearning to join
and drift, attaching, hoping, longing
and kissing, loving, i bond,

release, let go while brown ink
keeps flooding
my fingers, desk, heart and touching
the wind, words fall back, bouncing,

tumbling, pulsating and i
net 'em like insects, pinning them
to white sheets with tears full
of salty deserts cause i know, i know

they carry the scent of rough winds
and blue skies, of thunderstorms and
untamed wildness, of bird's croaks and
lover's cries, of hoping & losing like

a hero and dancing like a child
behind a plain & unimpressive
brown-inked veil.

i'm linking up with One Stop Poetry - write a poem, join us and meet some highly talented people over there. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

king protea holes in my soul

2010-12-27T17:07:00.004+01:00

the king protea is the national flower of south africa

i fought for the wings against african skies
like a wild roaring lion in the steppe, they
tenderly feathered towards weary eyes,

inflaming imagination like bushfire when
fluid, white, viscous sails threw long
shadows on summer-tired days, melting my

dripping point to almost nothing - all ease
and freedom and wonder in hard beaten
lands. and painting the skies with my fingers,

moist with sweat i waited for the silky surplices
to cover red glowing king protea holes in my
soul - but they never managed.

this was inspired by a discussion between some crazy poets :=) if wings or surplices would be the better word in the poem of a lovely south african lady....leaving the conversation, i started to write...

kissing her silent - a shadorma

2010-12-26T21:18:00.002+01:00

Photo credit: Adam Dustus - scene is part of Rockefeller Center, NYC

trumpets blow
flow low, echo wide
marching tight
and he longs
through the ever asking night
to kiss her silent

The Shadorma is a spanish poem form with six lines with a syllable pattern of 3/5/3/3/7/5

this was written for the one shoot sunday picture prompt over

at One Stop Poetry wanna join us..?

lost coins

2010-12-25T17:11:00.001+01:00

maybe it's a bit like
losing coins
on the sidewalk, they

slipped through a hole in
your pocket - unnoticed,
melting into powdery snow

like little sailors, falling
noiseless and no one collects
'em & who cares anyway? you

think you'll miss them? well, it
may be a bit late. so you search
your pockets for close rattling metal

& what you find is the warmth of
your skin and snowy air and you
feel a bit sad - or more - lost? hands

in your pocket, you look back
a long way, searching the snow
and wonder if it's them that
got drowned or - was it you..

filthy rags - a christmas rondel

2010-12-23T20:12:00.001+01:00

This is my birthday poem for the one, who loves me most, for him who started his humble walk in a stable and went all the way to the cross because he loved us more than his life. Don't know where i were without him - he saved me more than once and I guess there are never enough words to express how much I owe him and how much I love him. So.... happy birthday Jesus...!

filthy rags

you come to me when i expect it least

and cover me with wings as with a coat

i find no words to tell you what i hope

just stunned as you invite me to your feast

you take away what's old and used and greased

on water, i walk straight towards your boat

you come to me when i expect it least

and cover me with wings as with a coat

in fear of drowning all my movements freeze

my song stuck somewhere deep down in my throat

and filthy rags are scattered on the road

your love for me has never ever ceased

you come to me when i expect it. least

Merry Christmas to all of you!

(the rondel was invented in the 14th century, rhyme scheme is ABba abAB abbaA)

cardiologic

2010-12-21T12:25:00.000+01:00

i meet you during lunch-break promenades
you walk your black dog along snowy fields, you're
blind and I stop singing silent songs for fear

my voice would give away what’s deeply hidden,
well concealed. you’ll hear my steps, deflowering
earthy ground and somehow, as we pass, i

feel like empty jars, all fragile, nude with heavy
drops of red wine stealing, running, trickling
down curved glasses, mingled joy with sticky lip gloss

love-mad saliva - deposits and relics, smelling
of a time before fierce droughts would hit my land, when
i got drunk on lovers juices, inhaling tears,

afraid my voice, my breath, the way i step on
snowy ground would soon reveal what was forgotten and
untouched, invisible. and you may hear & feel & sense

the shadows of my soul like blurred past dirty mirrors
fleeting crash-ice towards spring-bound hopes,
all broken, scattered flowerseeds, entwined & caught

in barren branches, buried, drowned in endless darkened
aisles and winding up and down my veins - cardiologic
beating, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing as you pass

(and from your smile i know you saw me..)

this is my entry for One Shot Wednesday over at One Stop Poetry - join us, write a poem or just jump over to read others. Sign up opens today at 12 noon EST - a bit earlier than usual because of the holidays and because it's the last One Shot to link up your poem for the One Stop Anthology - a collection of "Best of One Shot - the first six months", published under Limited Editions Press

the arrow shot

2010-12-19T13:36:00.002+01:00

photo credit: Claudio Mufarrege - jump over to

One Stop poetry to learn more about him and his photography

she's not the kind of girl you meet
flamenco-dancing in the streets,
chasing her yellow laughter like
a boy would catch butterflies. she's

more the "trying to hunt down my
doubt with bow and arrow" kind,
shot in darkened corridors. and by
the time, she has decided on her way,

she would cob-web her face as with
perfume clouds. and through the
clocks, you painted on rough walls,
when time stood still, she fell

this was written for the one shoot sunday picture prompt over
at One Stop Poetry wanna join us..?

island blues

2010-12-17T07:52:00.000+01:00

what I’d take to this lonely island..? guess
my alto sax 4 bluesy moments, the Book of

him, who keeps my feet from stumbling (the
roots, you know...), 2 or 3 of the old poets who

survived more than just their life & maybe some
duct tape 4 fixing my shattered heart before

- buried beneath sandcastles -

i may find wings

what can you say in 55 words? linking up with g-man

on clichés and other dragons

2010-12-14T22:25:00.000+01:00

packing bags for a Tour de Universe, loading my dragon
with all the clichés I can find (quite a few), binding most
of them on his clifty back and feed him some as a starter

(taste is not bad, at least if you’re a dragon) and off we go,
moon direction, mars direction riding on milky ways, heroes
of the galaxies. small dragon, even smaller me and so packed

with clichés that actually some of the stars may suffer and all
the poets, staring at the sky shouting
“NO, NO” “YOU CAN’T” “JUST DON’T”!!!!

eyes wide open in unrestrained horror and Luke Skywalker,
taking his red pen, marking, shaking his head and (IMHO)
he’s right…no? but out in cosmos, who cares? the earth is

small from here.. we hyphenate spaces & scatter small print
(upper case as well) light-handed like fluffy snow-flakes across
dark, forgotten and syllable-empty universes (the clichés like

it up here, they have no easy life on earth anyway) so they
somersault happily, enjoying their short-lived reign before
fading, dying down, disappearing in poetic black holes and,

rubbing my eyes, hugging my dragon (wouldn’t kiss him,
you know his breath.. too hot…), I start wondering if they ever
have existed and in case (just hypothetical) I’d start to cry,

moaning all the lost words - half-mast my prose flag, the tears
won’t fall but zero gravity would carry them so floatingly through
time and space.. and one day, you’d find them, frozen and

crystalline, wrap ‘em like a bead round your neck - relics of a
time when clichés used to mingle with poetry like moondust
with the american dream, an ongoing temptation… riding the

dragon, incognito (names are dangerous when you deal with
clichés), exploring those undercover spots, inhaling steamy
dragon-breath (including some fiery flames when he gets excited)

chills sliding down my neck and up my spine til I start shivering
(cause it feels so good..) and wonder if we should stay a bit and
together, dream the planet
increasingly blue

linking up with One Shot Wednesday - join us, write a poem or just jump over to read others. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

I would write you a love song moon..

2010-12-14T05:30:00.001+01:00

For weeks I have thought about recording one of my poems and read it to you...and today i will...
wanna listen? jump over to One Stop Poetry
Hope you enjoy..

i would write you a love song moon…

if i didn’t know about your jagged bareness

i’d write you love song after love song and

love song after love song. but I know you’re

not what the sun makes me think, hanging

like a dreamer in the sky, mesmerize my

highway morning with a soft-touch glow,

taking me ages from cold asphalt sheets

to warm, shimmering moon blankets. slim

golden figure, bowed slightly towards my still

bed-warm morning lips, enough to make me

wanna taste your smiling promises, forgetting

lightlessness and all that’s hidden deep beneath

sun’s warming and unveiling touch. darkness

throwing shades, hiding ice-cubed forts, clifted

frailty, muted soft-pale vessels, empty silence,

heavy burdens on bent shoulders. but all is seen

& felt is tender, splintered beauty, wooing gently

for my heart, stirring edgy tunes on husky lips &

if I didn’t know about your jagged bareness,

I’d write you love song after love song and

love song after love song, shouted madly

from the scaffolds of my hopes in every key,

I’m capable of playing

she's an artist, ya know

2010-12-12T18:03:00.000+01:00

Photo: Feininger, Andreas, 1906-1999, photographer

she's an artist, ya know, sitting
next to you in the car and how
could the landscape only be blue

gritty or beautiful. no it
whispers with raw silence &
empties its barren soil on

your shoulder til you feel
coolness melting in circles on
skin and with the snowflakes

you fall (without even jumping)
into small crystalline dots.
she's a poet, ya know and

her neck seems to have just
the right size when streetblues
swarms on her and, with one

foot on the brake, guess what
you want is much more than
freedom on silent roads and

wide wells of snow dusted
canyons and being glued to
rough lips, seeing beauty before

spring would come. you've
just no clue how to ever find
mapping words for driving
this lonely road ahead

this was written for the one shoot sunday picture prompt over at One Stop Poetry - wanna join us..?

milky ways

2010-12-11T14:17:00.002+01:00

maybe it's just this little farm girl in me,
longing to catch flies without ever washing
hands again and looking at people from

behind trees, hiding and observing their
high-heel struggles, how they bend heads or
lift shoulders when approached. a weird

way of clearing throats when ordering
coffee to go while loving to stay, adding
sugar plus milk instead of drinking black

cause black is everything else and on milky
ways we sip on how life could taste and
probably never will, as wearing white shirts

will make no big difference with all what
colors and stains the minds. need to see?
sometimes you’re looked at and you're

all glass and bareness on coffee stained
tables, searching for cream, life hiding
behind full moon and sun-glassed faked

fun-rides, tryin’ to catch those high-pitched
tunes with drivin’-you-sick precision, and
no tablecloth far and wide

platforms

2010-12-10T06:34:00.000+01:00

dragon-flight into my heart, pinpoint landing on a

platform, built of black coffee & wet rain. what
you leave when you leave is much more than

charcoal-dusted smells of blazing fires, consuming

treasures, i didn't know about, getting lost beneath
piled sugar cubes of hopes & dreams.

today i shout crystal-frost into silence & breathe

oxygen-less

what can you say in 55 words? linking up with g-man

poetry on dirty faces

2010-12-07T17:33:00.001+01:00

write my heart into words - life onto paper til it's covered
with black dots like fly dirt on the ceiling of your room
or in the cow stable my uncle Sepp used to have. and i try

to catch words like we tried to catch flies among cattle,
friendly tuned with their deep "moo" and never washed
our hands (of course). we were dirty, smelling badly and

abundantly hungry - for life, for hope, for righteousness
and sausages and like we searched the farm for forgotten
eggs, i search my soul for words and wish they'd smell

like those sun-warmed seven week old lucky-hen finds.
we spilled 'em on the ground (part of the fun) and my, i
tell you - we didn't know and didn't care about Chanel, no

matter which number. part of the fun i say - and we were
never tired of anything. now-moments, now-laughter,
now-tears and now-heartbreak - just before the sun would
shine again and childhood poetry appeared on dirty faces.

linking up with One Shot Wednesday - join us, write a poem or just jump over to read others. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

..and i crumble like cake

2010-12-05T10:12:00.009+01:00

on waves of wind-swept beats we ride,
close to where all the crossroads meet,

and throwing our recipes together (the
secret ones), create traffic jams on empty

roads when you smell life out of my neck,
suspiring, wishing all our mounted bridges

would lead to no- and everywhere as
i close mascara-heavy eyes and crumble

like cake under the liquid rhythm of
your breath

linking up with one shoot sunday at One Stop Poetry today

the above photo was taken by Lisa Michelle Arhontidis,

ice dancing with my muse

2010-12-03T05:13:00.000+01:00

spinning, dancing, gliding,
heading north to touch the pole,
aurora borealis luring, stepping
on the edge.
and how i wanted her, so fallen
into fragments, diffused
in northern lights, encircled in
my snow storm; crystalline and
deeply longing, kissing me with
blood red lips

& what was left of me,

fell to the ground

in syllables

what can you say in 55 words? linking up with g-man

snow-capped steps

2010-12-02T15:41:00.000+01:00

so how does one feel, leaned
against closed doors, balancin'

snow-capped steps, tryin’ hard
to look relaxed while cutting

shadow figures out of sunshine
relics with a knife, too blunt

to divide chocolate hearts into
pros and cons

linking up with willow at magpie tales

what it is - a rap collaboration with Immanuel

2010-11-30T16:44:00.000+01:00

First poem i wrote in rap style and thought it would be nice to really have it rapped - so i asked Immanuel if he would do the vocals - he did - and an amazing job i think. thanks again!

what it is

it's this genuine life
that's precious to me
liftin' me high up in the air
and lets me dive into the sea

it's your brush
paintin' my future bright
makes my heart pace fast
stirrin' my longing for the light

it's a free flow fall
killin' all the pain
quietenin' these voices
drivin' me insane

it's jumping walls
bein' real with you and me
lookin' into your eyes
it's my reflection i see

it's got me letting go
no need to control
shed blood floods my sins
you makin' me whole

it's comin' ya close
findin' shelter from the rain
cuttin' loose these bonds
and the freedom i claim

it's got me letting go
no need to control
shed blood floods my sins
makin' me
makin' me whole
ya know?

linking up with One Shot Wednesday - join us, write a poem or just jump over to read others. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

10 rats for a life

2010-11-28T14:20:00.004+01:00

when cries dead-end before tunes turn silent and

cracked dreams scatter on streets like smoked-down

cigarettes, we stay. through raven black tuesdays,

when not only stock markets crashed and hope's

children; galaxies swallowed by black holes. our

universe is in our eyes, we trade 10 rats for a life

and on dirty streets whistle on.

linking up with today’s One Stop Poetry Picture Prompt Challenge…

Photo: Depression Era Childhood Faces (St. Louis, Missouri)
image care of creative commons flickr

playin' the love beat

2010-11-28T09:16:00.002+01:00

just you and me

hidden

in the tree

on a branch

beak to beak

and fluffy feathers part

i feel your heart

bum - ba - bum - ba - bum

playing the love beat.

Say it in 160 characters (spaces included..) and visit Monkey Man to link up or read others

where silence lies

2010-11-25T22:16:00.001+01:00

I see you in the space where silence lies
and concrete glistens wet on unwalked streets
when fine-spun threads will pull us as we meet
and you so cautiously would kiss my eyes

and as i feel the purple blues arise
i start to fall, my world turns into beats
I see you in the space where silence lies
and concrete glistens wet on unwalked streets

our rain, a dance of thousand fireflies
when silent waters flow like silky sheets
i part your seas and in the storm we meet
on muted flags we sail to bridge the ice
I see you in the space where silence lies
and concrete glistens wet on unwalked streets

(rondel form - ABba abAB abbaA(B)) in this case (B) a french sonnet or rondel prime

I meet you in the space where silence lies
and concrete glistens wet on unwalked streets
when you so cautiously would kiss my eyes
I meet you in the space where silence lies
and as i feel the purple blues arise
i start to fall, my world turns into beats
I meet you in the space where silence lies
and concrete glistens wet on unwalked streets

(triolet form - ABaAabAB - capital letters indicate refrain lines)

diving

2010-11-23T19:38:00.005+01:00

warm liquid spills across my skin and
goose bumps drown in soap-warm foam
glimmering candles, keeping me company,
the window-knocking rain - locked out

flames flicker, twinkle towards shut-down
eye lids, throw image fragments into
candle-scent like oil, melting, blending with
my shadows, exploding into soapy art; paint
cloudy skies with smarties-colored dreams

and i stay small and wet and warm and
like my feet and hands, my soul would shrivel
water-wrinkled, bubbling soap, let go - as
fireworks paint pyro wonders on my naked
skin - and diving deep, i drown the rain.

another round of One Shot Wednesday - join us, write a poem or just jump over to read others. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

see me

2010-11-22T06:07:00.006+01:00

see me
through the veil of
wonders, when you gently
touch my face on moonlit softened
nights, i hear you howling, wild with longing
circled by swift whispers as you're
sensing for the rain, when
quiet enters;
see me

this is my first poem, written in rictameter form, a structure i like because of its rhythm. special thanks to Luke Prater for explaining and helping with this

..oh..and don't search for a deeper meaning in this piece...there is none...i was just writing without thinking..only counting and syllable-dancing...smiles

Rictameter - the meter pattern (syllables per line) is 2-4-6-8-10-8-6-4-2.

There is no rhyme/repetition dictated but it is optional. First and last lines are identical.

Rictameter form was created early 1990s by two cousins, Jason D. Wilkins and Richard W. Lunsford Jr., both poets who ran a weekly poetry contest in their club, the Brotherhood of the Amarantos Mystery, inspired by Robin Williams' movie "Dead Poet's Society". Jason, who made the first and last line the same, named it Rictameter after his brother Rich, who created the form

my prose flame

2010-11-20T19:47:00.000+01:00

i'm blazing words
&dream-drink poetry
in thunderstorms
join in&we may get a prose flame burning
set the town on fire
&syllable-dance in a snow-covered yard

Say it in 160 characters (spaces included..) and visit Monkey Man on sunday to link up or read others

out of balance

2010-11-18T21:21:00.000+01:00

(out of balance)

i saw you lurching down
the road, unsteadily steady
shifting
your weight back - up - aargh!
and forth - oh no - and.. yes
i envied you balance the
imbalance, bereft of poise, and yet
withstanding gravity‘s forces, lurking
for your downfall - a matter
of (what) time. left? wishing
i had some of your equilibrium.

what can you say in 55 words? linking up with g-man

liquid bareness

2010-11-16T18:03:00.000+01:00

find me lying
beneath trees
eyes closed and
covered with leaves

bygone summer
silent tunes
drinking in the fall of time
motionless; breathing
yesterday's heartbeats

clouds gather,
black-paint the sky
blowing shadowed strength
marching to forces &
pouring freight
on fragile constructions

& what i thought
would hide me was washed
into liquid bareness
in less than seconds

Join us tonight for One Shot Wednesday - write a poem or jump over to read others. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

glue & love stains

2010-11-15T18:10:00.001+01:00

I can’t say i miss you
every single minute of my day.
there are times, i forget how
you smell and feel bad about it.
but in moments like now,
it feels like part of my heart is being
painted on with the same window colors
you painted your snowboard with.

It leans a bit lonely against the mirror
in your room (so do i).

wide heart-sections also
seem to be covered with those
tiny tesserae, you glued
to the small table
(they make it so uneven)
and when I pull out the old
magazines from below your couch
and find half of the pictures are
cut out, newly arranged and used as
school book covers, i start to see
what may have happened to me.

and i wonder if i’ll find tiny pieces
of my heart, taken away, re-arranged to
new patterns & scattered across the globe.
they may seem out of context
(just as i feel right now)
and glue is sticking to them but
most probably, they are beautifully
arranged; and next to the glue i know,
i'll find love stains.

was my daughter's birthday and as she's in La Paz for a year, we'll only have a remote celebration via skype..

linking up with emily's imperfect prose...

i see you

2010-11-14T14:17:00.008+01:00

i hear your song as i
pass by. a melody,
never sung; swallowed
by life's traffic like garbage
in a waste press. broken
dream dirge, carried away
on exhaust gases; and
shattered hope beat, melting
in greasy circles into
the rush hour before it
gets lost somewhere
in a busy crowd.

Linking up with one shoot sunday @ One Stop Poetry

Photo credit: Ed Yourdon

my self

2010-11-14T08:44:00.004+01:00

did i tell you...?
i am not beautiful.

i have these
ugly spots,
and bruises,
all over

and it requires
some love and
lots of courage

to like me

...as i am.

Say it in 160 characters (spaces included..) and visit Monkey Man to link up or read others

you reach my shore

2010-11-11T18:41:00.001+01:00

your waves reach
my shore and
the endless
murmuring tides
of open waters
outpour into
a starlit nightsky. flooding
the edge of eternity, breathing
and bridging my disconnection
into unity. what
is lost,
my lostness
(and who could count the stars?)
in the space before
silence
smiles; our wheels spin right
beside the moon

what can you say in 55 words? jump over to g-man's friday flash 55 to join in or read more

friendship

2010-11-09T15:32:00.001+01:00

if you'd join me
on that cherry tree
we may just sit on the branches
for a while.... listening
..to each others silence

you would show me
what you see, how
the fieldflowers bend their face
towards the sun and lavishly
open their treasuries for the bees
to feast on

and i'd describe
how pillowy clouds
paint castles and kingdoms
across a spotless summer sky

and i may discover, i like the way
you look at the world

when we'd start to talk
about the stars, the sun and the moon
and how they keep pacing their orbit
with facile grace
i'd probably like the sound of your voice
and you'd love me humming along
the song of the sparkling nightsky

maybe you'd feed me
dark red cherries
until lips and hands are stained
with juices like blood
and at our
cherry-pit spitting contest
laugh so deep
that we almost fall off the branches

and i'd see the sparkles in your eyes
for the first time

perhaps you would take some leaves
to protect me
from the crackling rain
i would shield you from the wind
and wrapped in each other
like in liquid magic, we'd start
to trust

and one day
i would look at the tree
and realize, i forgot
how life has been without you

'cause like the tree we grew roots
and our leaves long
to touch

Join us tonight for One Shot Wednesday - write a poem or jump over to read others. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

into my sea

2010-11-07T16:01:00.000+01:00

can you hear

the clouds silent whispers?

they have escaped their cradle

and gathered to melt

into my sea.

the above photo is by Andy Ilachinski
He is featured today @ One Stop Poetry

Blanc screen

2010-11-06T00:01:00.004+01:00

Instead of eating, I walk
shuffling through leaves
as through old songs
down to the roots of the hardly audible,
drifted on the wind

Try to catch my thoughts
as they blow rocket-high.

Like left-over ashes
from a long lapsed log fire
they scatter
across my storm-shaken brain
Feels like blanc screen before
or after?
the error alert

My breath forces weighty feathers
on light breezes,
they spill down, overstrained with flying
and crowd, crowd, crowd
my yard
while hen claws scratch acid sharp trenches
with no material left to backfill

Instead of "instead ofs"
I fall into that space into betweens,
glide deeper
faster
Yes - I'm hungry;
flashlights
paint blazing reflections
on my cheeks
as I walk away,
..wondering if they'd turn red
before the rooster crows
for the second time

for more magpie tales, join us over at willow's place

and i pluck letters like grapes

2010-11-04T19:27:00.000+01:00

thought i'd run out
of words
when i went for a walk
and there they were
wrapped in dried up leaves
scattered and somersaulting
on mossy ground
escaping a moist and rich soil
like earthworms
and i plucked letters
like ripe grapes
& drank 'em like wine
before the wetness of autumn
washes them into decay

what can you say in 55 words - jump over to g-man's friday flash 55 to join in or read more

silouettes

2010-11-02T20:14:00.000+01:00

5 am in the kitchen

we meet

slow motion

i kiss the cheeks of a boy

growing into a man

stubble

a smell of dream-dragons

fuming their trails

your skin still bed-warm

my lips

like scanner-tills

searching

decoding

mapping human genome

feeling for encrypted treasures

we touch a lot

standing in each others way

and you're playing eminem for me

our busy morning silouettes

reflect in the night-dark window

as my heart paces along

in the rhythm of the rap

and with every beat

screams out

how much i love you

Come and join us tonight for One Shot Wednesday - write a poem or jump over to read others. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

your DNA

2010-10-31T14:57:00.000+01:00

like
echoes
in the dark
my song
channels
trails
towards
the sun

it's you
i seek
and you
take me
out
of
the public
and love
my strives
away
behind
closed doors
i
kiss life
with
tender lips
and
strong arms
hold
me tight
and
inhaling
your breath
i
conceive
and
one day
give birth
to
what
you
have fathered
and what
in
bright daylight
truly
carries
your DNA

Jasmin - a poem by my daughter Miriam

2010-10-30T12:31:00.008+02:00

This is a poem by my daughter Miriam (who is in La Paz at the moment) She wrote it for her best friend Jasmin - and I cried when I was reading it...
She posted it in german on her blog and allowed me to translate and post it here...hope you like it as much as I do...

Jasmin

i was sitting
all alone
on those stairs
and hated the day
and would've loved
to play
"my right, right place is empty.."
and i wished it was you
taking the seat next to me
and then we would just sit
side by side
like we've done
a hundred times
on that bench in Fischingen

and for all the people
who would've seen us
it had appeared
we were just silent
but both of us knew
we are not
but my thoughts
would have told your thoughts
without a single word
everything
that was so important
this very moment

poetree

2010-10-28T19:19:00.003+02:00

i‘ve been dreamin'
of words
with a texture
thick,
distinctive and rough
like tree bark
and the smell
of forest mysteries
hitting my paper
rubbing scratchy marks
tearing it apart
with a rawness
and intensity
that made me shiver
all over
and gazing through knotholes
slowly spreading
and filling the spaces
i saw poetree
growing

what can you say in 55 words - jump over to g-man's friday flash 55 to join in or read more