True Life

I was dead, even when alive.
I lived, but lived for others,
Surrendering my soul,
I must have existed, but did I truly survive?

Denial? Busyness? Constant comparisons?
Are all good contenders,
(Do-goodness and perfection add)
In the throes of destruction.
But now I heal, trusting in God there are no human barriers.

However, this truth, 
The hustle continues,
Life should be sweet?!
But instead, we struggle by struth!

Mindfulness may be the key,
Cocktails of alcohol and drugs?
Or constant distractions and selfies?
But Jesus trumps all, seek him, you'll see!

He is the life and resurrection,
He is our true peace,
Our hope and life,
And should always be our concentration.

The grey gives way to fuchsia pink  
And light falls softly upon the trees
It’s then, he's seen, the morning sun
With his fingers of gold and earthy honey
That wake the sleepy land and sea
And warm the gentle birds and bees
Brighten the fragrant rain kissed rose
That rests on brows that still repose —
And speaks to the stars hidden above
Of warm nights and a summer of love

Deep custard coloured daffodils
True harbingers of spring
Tall mustard painted trumpets
A joyous star-like thing.
Bright gold encrusted promises
Carried on the wing
A portent of emergent life
That a daffodil will bring

22.3.25
SE

All things have their end
This rule of life won’t stretch or bend.
Living is a blast
For as long as it can last.
And you, my love, the cherry on top,
The horizons edge, where the mountains stop
I’m standing here, on a ledge
And watching, while the words slip off.

22.2.25 Lanza
SE

Have you ever felt unsafe in your own skin?
If you haven’t, I don’t even know where to begin.
To get you to fathom,
The deep and lonely chasm.
When you speak,
Sounding only like a squeak,
Yet rattles around in the dark,
Trying to find the harbour with Your mark.

Thank YOU, that I am not perfect!

I take off this heavy yoke,
This burden that cripples my spirit and robs my joy.
What is it like to live a different life?
To believe something different from what I've spoke. 

To try new things and become more of YOUR joy.
Thank YOU that I'm not perfect!

Thank YOU that I can make mistakes,
And can try again.
There are many possibilities ahead!
I can zoom ahead and I can apply the breaks,
I can stumble and re-wire my brain.

Thank YOU that I'm not perfect! 
So here's to another attempt,
So here's to continuing on the journey...
No matter what…willingly and NOT circumspect!

I will never taste
that exquisite flavor.
You are immersed
in language,
while I admire,
from my balcony,
your collocations,
your state of being,
expressed with juicy metaphors
that will never be mine,
even though I long for them.

I build bridges in the wind
strange in form.
I can offer nothing that
my sincerity and passion,
torn rather than beautifully woven.

Thank you for stopping by
reading them with wonder.
Please think warmly of me
if I fail to ignite your intellect.
I came to experience
I am a freed soul,
finding words in a foreign tongue.
I reconstruct myself
between the lines.

Every year the desert
           (with d from devils)
advances fifteen kilometers
           (with k from karma)
dries up springs
            (with s from spirits)
dries up more and more words.
The dictionary is ever more famished -
essences on the leap
stop for a second over the abyss,
then whiten the cracked earth.
The poet watches
the pure skulls of the words;
the words, still living and hungry,
watch the poet.

By Grete Tartler, translated by Liviu Bleoca

They call me Mr. Rose,
Bearer of lost love,
Mourner of memories.

There used to be a Mrs. Rose,
But she faded to nothing but a stray few,
Memories for me to weep over.

They call me Mr. Rose,
Because of this flower I pin on my suit,
More for the stab of the thorn than anything.