Poems
Grass in Monochrome [poem]
Some people
when they want something
they cannot have
will want it all the more.
Then
when it becomes available
suddenly
they’re not so sure.
How does this situation come about?
what fans the flames
of such desire
when greenness of grass
on other sides
sets hearts afire
yet when that grass
becomes the grass of home
it loses its vivacity
extinguishes its flames
and turns from green
to monochrome?
youandme [poem]
This life is a latticework of leftover
drownful dreams which, when painted
with our drainlike thinned-out blood,
leaves desperadoed ebbing stains
of wholly homemade gravy-feigning
pigment wash upon the canvas
brushstrokes’ brave and brackish
left-outsided wilting undergush.
You are not the Painter but the Brush [poem]
As I sat me down within the shallow foaming sea
and splashed and flapped my upper body parts
(observing how the weave of blue and silver filigree
reminded me of women’s clothing in renaissance art)
a voice came from beneath the waves with naked joy:
«You think you are a painter but you’re not.
That’s only how it seems to you with blinkers on
from deep within your self-made jewelry box»
Subtlety [prose poem]
That is something I love more than so much else in this kitschly oafish world. I’d rather have a ripple than a swell — an aroma rather than a smell — an understated presence which unobtrusively waits with calmness to be seen (knowing that it will, by those who are attuned to its gentle shower’s evergreen). A cultivated hybrid rose cannot outdo a wild and meadowed flower. A patient talent doesn’t crassly bang its drum (because it knows what placidness will help it to become). A dynamic whisper rather than a yell (sleeve-tugging propaganda always rings a tawdry bell). The flicker of a smile instead of cheesy grins. The delicate and unposed face which you can wake up next to every day without becoming bored. (Love-letters writ in lowercase will much more likely strike a chord). The quiet confidence of self-composure rather than the swaggered boast of self-exposure. Subtlety: the lost art of today. How much more attractive is nuance rather than noise — Nestor rather than Narcissus! — openness over plots and ploys. Such will be the character of the phoenix world to come, whose strings already here I strum for we can live the future now as the gentle vital avant-garde — no more we’ll have to slip and slide on gore within this bloody abattoir. But what I love above all else about the touch of subtlety is that it makes you look and listen with far more than merely eyes and ears (though first you need to understand your darkness and your fears). It expands the imagination, nurtures sensitivity, encourages creativity, takes away all bitterness as well as helps you love the moon (identifies the secret tune you play). Subtlety is the door to the art gallery of wisdom.
Choose your Side [poem]
In the beginning there was no beginning
for the beginning was a has-been blank page
blinding light-beamed stowaway
arrayed in random stardust
blowing on a wind of ceaseless change
without inception
outside human stuckintime conception
made of matter darkly hued
infinitely airbrushed out of sight
and view and mind or any other signs which
under normal circumstances anyone can find
so only those determined to apprise themselves
would reach inside the clues.
Reception [poem]
Welcome to this world of mine
which tries with all its heart
to intertwine round every
perfume-scented wind of change
in hope that love and coloured light
will be diffused across your stage
where lessthanloveslight lurks
in darkened corners underlaid
with childhood hurt and primal pain
the fruits of which have never
brought a grain of beauty’s breath
to the banquet richness
safety net of friendship —
only death
No more Love Songs [poem]
It’s official !
At last, romance is dead.
After aeons of prevarication,
I’ve had my fill of empty dreams,
false promises, unwanted luggage,
ultra-freaked-out BPD (or NPD),
or things not being what they seem;
and now I saw the welcome light.
At last, romance is dead;
and with one fatal booted blow
I got it in my line of sight and
kicked it soundly in the head.
It’s overrated anyway —
especially at this earthly time
when entropy takes precedent
permittedly (temporarily)
over logic and intelligent design.
Continue reading…
Scherzo [poem]
three steps forward one step back
another two are sliding sideways
soon there’ll come the (fountain)
mountain moment when we both
discover that we’re right on track
but now we whirl around this room
where I’ve not been before
as tentatively we will spin
and waltz at least until the dawn
The Door of Risk [poem]
On this anticipatory morning glory dew
while mounting sun bows deeply
to the fading was of Venus in the blue
empyreality of now foreboding sky
the sweetsome scent of certainty
invades my normally pristine sense
of ever-omnipresent randomness
with delicate sharp insistent fate
Today I bid myself Goodbye [poem]
Today, I bid myself a firm goodbye.
I thought I’d better get it over with
instead of waiting calmly till the end
when everything I think I am or was
will have dissolved: Confetti whispers
dissipated on the icy wind of death —
my final breath a sigh of unfulfilled
and thenceforth nameless dreams.
The Naked Troubadour 