And I wonder sometimes
where you are and
what you are doing.
If you ever think about
all that was, and all
that has been.
Your clothes on my bedroom floor,
the barricaded door,
your eyes locked in mine.
The soothing silence,
like a warm blanket,
conveying between us
what words never could.
Our heads resting on pillows,
my hand catching a lock of your hair,
as your wedding ring lay dormant
upon the wooden nightstand.
And I remember
all your special places that,
when touched right,
assured me of a long hot night,
breaking said silence,
with gentle sighs,
and passionate groans,
sweat dripping from our pores,
as our bodies became one,
as did our souls.
And I remember
the slither of morning light
that awoke us
through the cracks
of thrift shop curtains,
little particles of dust
caught in its rays.
Oh, how I remember
first light kisses,
morning caresses,
and, afterwards,
your body covering
half of mine,
the gentle stroking
of your forehead
and the sweet scent
of your skin.
And in between
these moments,
I remember a dream
of never-ending happiness
that turned out to be
just what that was.

I believe in us.
Slow dancing in the pouring rain,
our inner ears tuned to the silent music
that resonates between our hearts.

I believe in us.
These powerful feelings of belonging
that are sparked even by the mere
touching of our hands.

I believe in us.
The laughter in our eyes and on our lips
as we convey through touch, those words
that had best remain unspoken.
Not because they are
anything less than magnificent,
like the light that shines through us,
but because words can never be equal
to the joining of our souls.

She came to me again today.
When the light changed and shifted its hue
I sensed her presence and no matter
where I would go or what I would do,
I felt her hand in mine and smelled
the fragrance of her skins perfume,
like the flowers in the warmth of eve
somewhere at the end of June.

And perhaps it was in my dreams,
where I know I have met her before,
I kissed her a thousand times
and a thousand times more,
for the all familiar flavour of her lips
I could taste upon my own
as I slowly traced my fingertips
along the sunbeam that had shown
the outline of her perfect face.

But when I blinked, she scattered.
Stardust, to be gone without a trace.
I could feel her breast against mine
as I tried to hold her in sweet embrace.
I breathed her and it filled me with such warmth,
that turned into love and nearly tore me apart
for she was tearing through my veins
to live forever in my heart.

I wish that you shall
find yourself again
and remember me, when
you find a way to piece together
all the fragments of broken promises
and shattered dreams
that made up who you used to be.
I hope we can restore
that which was lost;
the friendship, the love, the trust,
for we are but strangers now.
And I pray, that you shall
find me somehow, someday
and that I, in turn
will find myself again.

For I am lost without you.

Sometimes I just wish
that I could disappear.
Sit in the dark for a while
and gently dissolve into thin air.
Turn off this endless stream,
and wake into a dream,
of love and eternal peace.
Sometimes I just wish
that I could disappear.
Erase my presence,
and all the evidence
of me ever having been here.

How can I not compare
to the light of the setting summer sun,
the colour of your golden hair
and the warmth of your lovely smile,
that make it seem cold and dim?

And how can I not feel like drowning
in the splendour of your byzantine eyes,
when the depths of the clearest oceans
and the endless blue of skies,
seem shallow and pale in comparison?

And how can I not want to stray
in that complex maze of your mind
when, all along the winding way,
there are so many  views to find
that simply take my breath away?

And how can I not hope to be
the cause for that lovely smile,
when it seems so obvious to me
that living life is more worthwhile
if I can share it with you?

Ik druk mijn lippen op jouw naam,
sierlijk op een enveloppe geschreven,
fragmenten van herinneringen,
in een brief die ik je nooit heb gegeven.

Weet je nog *** wij de eerste keer liepen,
door die oude hoofdstad van ons land?
Door de straten zwervend, lachend,
jouw koude in mijn warme hand.

En weet je nog de kleurigste herfst,
wandelend door het bos bij de duinen,
met jouw dochter die vol bewondering
naar paddenstoelen liep te struinen?

En weet je nog die hoogste schommel,
die bijna reikte tot de maan
waarop ik jou steeds hoger duwde,
omdat ik nog niet weg wilde gaan?

En weet je nog *** wij samen,
slenterend door winkels van ingebonden papier,
intiem pratend, de wereld negerend,
jij mijn hand pakte en zei “hier”?;
“Voel *** wij uit alle macht
hetzelfde dansen op het ritme van dit leven”
en *** ik toen ter plekke bedacht
dat ik jou mijn wereld wilde geven.

En weet je nog, toen het tij
zich tegen ons begon te keren
en wij nog dachten dat wij samen
de storm wel zouden kunnen trotseren,
*** ons roerloze schip
tezamen met mijn wereld is vergaan,
toen de golven van emoties
het tegen de rotsen hebben doen slaan?

En heb je het nog gehoord dat ik zoekend,
tussen het wrakhout in de koude oceaan,
jouw naam heb geroepen tot ik,
schor en half in verdriet verdronken,
maar aan land ben gegaan?

En heb je het geweten dat ik dolend,
over bospaden en de straten van die oude stad,
gezocht heb naar sporen van jou,
niet wetende of je aan mij dacht of dat je mij vergat?

Maar wat je niet hebt kunnen weten
en waarschijnlijk ook niet meer ziet
is dat ik nooit heb kunnen vullen,
de leegte die je achter liet.

Ik druk mijn lippen op jouw naam,
sierlijk op een enveloppe geschreven,
fragmenten van herinneringen,
in een brief die ik je nooit heb gegeven

What dreams do you dream,
when you lay your head to rest?
Once your eyes are closed  
and the slow heaving of your *******
belies that you have gone far away.  

What dreams do you dream,
when you go to meet your angels there?
Do you speak to them of unrequitted love
within the corners of your mind,
where only you can wander?  

What dreams do you dream,
when you go to meet your demons there?
Do you fight with them for life when,  
all the doubts in your heart laid bare,
they slowly tear away at your beliefs?  

What dreams do you dream,
when you go to bathe in the moonlight there?
Does your skin, the silvery white of stars,
reflect what you desire and do you care
when you dissolve into mesmerizing illusion?  
 
What dreams do you dream,
do you go to meet me there?
To feel me loving you and hear me
whispering your name in prayer,
and you, loving me in equal manner?  

What dreams do you dream,
When you lay your head to rest?
Once my eyes are closed  
and the slow heaving of my chest,
belies that I have gone far away.

Jouw naam is nooit ver weg.
Zij dwaalt door mijn gedachten
waar zij alles verlicht,
alles in de war schopt
en mij van slaap onthoudt.

Jouw naam is nooit ver weg.
Zij verstopt zich achter mijn lippen,
waar ze geduldig wacht om,
bij iedere zucht die mij ontsnapt,
geluidloos tevoorschijn te komen.

Jouw naam is nooit ver weg.
Ze vloeit rijkelijk uit mijn pen
waar zij, mijn hand sturend,
er zorg voor draagt dat
ik enkel woorden schrijven kan,
die haar prijzen en aanbidden.
Mijn muze wiens essentie
terug te vinden is tussen de zinnen
van alle liederen en poëzie,
welke geschreven zijn over
de liefde en de schoonheid.

Jouw naam is nooit ver weg.
Zij ontwaakt tezamen met mij
en laat mij nimmer vergeten
dat zij het leven mooier maakt,
de wereld mooier maakt.
Dat zij, gewoon door te zijn,
alles mooier maakt.

Jouw naam is nooit ver weg.

I have ripped apart the photographs we had yet to take,
and I have wept my love, oh how I have wept.
I have said farewell to the children we had yet to make,
and I have bled my love, oh how I have bled.

I have watched our viable future burning at the stake,
and I have cried my love, oh how I have cried.
I have buried my dream and spoke at its wake,
And I have died my love, oh how I have died.

When the truth came to light,
seeping out of the cracks
that secrets inflict
upon the outer shell of the soul,
it was not as light
but as shadow,
engulfing my world
and sparking war.  

Now, the demons in my mind,
they are fighting.
Fighting with the angels,
who’s morale was broken,
as the fairytale turned out to be
just what that was.

Amidst the turmoil of the world,
my heaven you have always been.
Though you have all but disappeared,
I still meet you in my dreams.
And as my heart slowly bleeds,
tears leave stains on my cheeks,
I whisper in the empty darkness
“I hope you are well, my love”.

En als je er dan toch achter komt
dat je niet langer het licht in het leven ziet,
zoek in het donker dan mijn hand zodat wij,
samen ontsnappend over de onzichtbare treden
tussen de verlichtende stralen van de maan,
onze weg kunnen vinden naar de sterren.

When the heart can no longer feel
what the mind still wants to believe,
and the mouth can no longer speak
of what the soul truly wants to receive,
your sanity will all but break
and you yourself, while wide awake,
will be lost in bad dreams.

These poems you can only write
when the suffering is just right.
If life is too easy and good
like what life in heaven should be,
happy and free, you would
never be able to write again.

Your heart must bleed a little,
The sorrow seeping out slowly.
Your thoughts turning into this brittle
manifestation that dissolves readily in ink,
and becoming a stream of words on paper,
narrating all that you feel and think.

But if the tear in your heart is too great,
the flow of sorrow flooding the moat,
the voice in your mind will suffocate,
gasping for air and grasping its throat.
And while it wails and twitches,
destroying whatever bridges
lay between your pen and repentance,
the ink will drop freely and smear
before it reaches the final sentence.

Where heaven is too good to be true,
Hell is to too much of a burden to bear.
You are the purgatory poet,
living halfway between happiness and despair.

Stories and tales

Come sit with me child
and confess to me today’s mischief
so that, if only for a while
I have something to laugh about

And please, madam, tell me a tale
full of life, longing and love
so that I might feel without fail
what was lost to the course of time

And you, kind sir, tell me a story
to fill my mind with bravery and glory
for I am filled with the fear
of doubt and cowardice

Ik wou dat de woorden kwamen
en ik zo mijn hoofd kon legen.
Een oneindige waterval aan woorden,
een eindeloze rij gedachten,
staan naast elkaar in de regen,
op eenander te wachten.

En terwijl mijn wereld in brand staat,
de bruggen reeds door het vuur verzwolgen,
met het as dat in mijn gezicht slaat
en de stroom gedachten die mij achtervolgen,
loop ik verder.
Niet wetende wat komen gaat..

To all these stones, alleys and streets
the memories of you do cling.
The touch of your hand
that I still feel in mine
makes my heart silently sing.
And the sweet scent of your skin,
still lingering in the air,
is playing playful tricks on my mind
as I hear a voice whisper;
“she was there”,
“she was there”...

She is the reason for the world behind your eyes,
that imaginary reality of your Elysian field.
The warmth of her smile,
the furtive soil of her thighs,
a whisp of her voice enough to make you yield.

These walls, so carefully erected,
crumble and fall where they stand,
to your core you are dissected
by a mere touch of her hand.

Yet, you do not shy away, on the contrary
you long for her, yearn for her heart
no matter how vulnerable and weary
it is better to die, than to be apart.

“Oh, my love! “Tread carefully on this soul,
or tear it to pieces if you were so to choose”.
“For you hold the entire world in your hands
and I, I don’t care what I might lose”.

The sound of a distant highway
a constant noise, but never the same
much like my thoughts, an endless stream
during the day and well into my dream
The only respite, during the last hours of the night
no longer the burden to carry

Until the next day

The river upstream turns ever thicker
until the water turns into a stream of mud
which in turn, turns into a stream of sludge
wade through it to find a stream of tar
All the while the stones cast from the banks afar
grow larger ever still

The mind at peace
empty, silent
lying still, unbound limbs
loose muscles
No longer the body and mind
the burden carry
Death as a reward
for having been alive
Sleep forever

This void..

This darkness...



Freedom

There is magic in song and word
Whether they are read or heard
It sooths us, heals us, makes us
Allows us to flee, without too much fuss

There is magic in writing
Conveying emotions with words
That feeling when the sun sets low
Or when listening to the song of birds

There is magic all around us
The way flowers bloom and children develop
If only one wishes to see
How bumblebees fly and horses gallop

Dreams like vague forms
Obstructed by this dense fog
Not grounded but floating,
As if on water

They drift closer together
But further away altogether
Becoming more vague
ever still

Remembrance, if at all
No more than a glimpse
Their true form and scope
Almost lost in time
Almost lost
Almost
Lost

How I long for the warmth of your skin
Your naked shoulders against my chest
To endure your cold feet on my legs
As I lay my head to rest

I want to feel your breath moving
The hairs that reside on my arm
As I pull you closer, ever closer still
To make you feel secure, to keep you warm

I want to know the smell of your hair
Map all the freckles and marks on your back
Like a personal and intimate constellation
That has sprung from the slender hind of your neck

Follow it down to the curve of your hips
Stroke your breast as you fall asleep
Catch the sigh that escapes your lips
As I whisper “ Goodnight, my love”

Buried deep within memory
fragments of thoughts once whole
like unfinished sentences trying to tell you story
broken as they pass from experience into remembrance
A recordplayer that will only play
a few half songs of your favourite album

Colours, fragrances and light
ambience and feelings come and leave in an instant
and are all that remain
of the fugacious past of your fleeting life
they are only yours and will always be yours
only to be doused
by eternal slumber