~Still life

In the window frame
Empty stare
Through the self-imposed
Prison of glass -
On the windowsill
Candle never lit -
Souvenirs of the past

Painting -
An empty shell
Of a woman, staring
Chiaroscuro background -
Darkness, shade, hardly any light
To illuminate
The inside
Of the jail

Contemplating
Escape?
Suicide?

Waiting
For what
For the end?
Waiting for whom?

Waiting for God-ot!
He, who shall never come -

In vain
Still waiting
Years too late
For the bells to toll

In the window frame
Oil on canvas -
It is me
Through the window pane
Staring through the glass

Resigned

Lifeless

Still life

On canvas


Author Notes:
Waiting for Godot - Samuel Beckett's - absurd tragicomedy; Godot never shows up.

~Sailing my Beluga*

Today, the day is crying
All night,
And since early morning,
Filled with melancholy
Waters
Up to the brim.

Slowly overflowing
Streams and rivers
Under my bridges.

I am adding
My tear or two
Of the salty liquid
To the mill.

We will
Finally reach
The sea,
The ocean blue.
There is no
Rush,
No haste,
No hurry.

Easy does it.

Life is just
An accident.

It may take a while,
A year or two,
A day
Or a week.

Who is counting
The hours,
The minutes?

Not me.

What's wrong
With just sailing,
Going
With the flow?

There is nothing,
Nothing,
Nothing wrong.

You left the city for a week and this is where I found you. In the petals of my mouth. You pollinate my tongue with your sweetness and my nectar over flows only for you. Help me grow. Even though I know, you must fly back home. The Sun is not enough.

You bought me some good presents.
Some lasting presents.
A lasting presence,
Now that you are gone.

You always remarked on the light
And now when I see sunlight,
I think of you.

You took me to the beach,
Now when I see the beach,
I think of you.

You bought me a coffee machine
And every morning as I get my hit
I think of you.

Winter scarves and hats
Are wooly thoughts of you.

Smoking out the window -
Naughty thoughts of you.

Trying not to smoke -
A thought for you.

Marmite on toast -
I think of you.

A pretty girl -
Some other you.

A naked girl -
I try not to, but...

I think of you
So much more
Now you are gone
And I'm not sure
If I will ever
Not think of you
Again.

There's only one thing
That could stop these thoughts -
To be with... you again.

Just you.

You.

With a shining smile
and erupting laughter,
the crowd's engulfed
in my one-liners and easy joy.
We're singing
and swaying,
and I'm participating.

I play along throughout the day.

My award-winning role,
I am
the actress.

So take a seat in front of my stage,
and prepare your hands for a burst of applause

as I fall into fiction.

I will memorize these lines,
I will become my character,
I will forget the reality of
happily never after.

The end.

Poison spoon fed the nodding King and ended ancestors.

Holy cows bought government *****
and ate suicides grown by ***** Kubla Khan gospels.

Shantih, Leviticus, and other proper thoughts
kissed arms of air and made islands from memories of breakfast.

Eternity perished in the illusion of swallowed tongues
in the belly of an infant—
and yesterday,

Only one bullet of hallelujah stood swimming.

you are birdsong
you are moonlight
you are white snow
you are rippling cornstalks
you are rolling hills
you are the sun setting behind the mountains
you are morning air, and dew
you are a ripple in a quiet lake
you are refracted light in a flowing stream
you are a bed of lilacs warmed by the sun

you are beauty
beauty is you