Hello, Midnight
with your ragged stars
hidden behind clouds

Hello, Midnight
a *****'s salute
to restless thoughts

Hello, Midnight
a girl flashing her skirt
in the red light district

Hello, Midnight
calling with ******* & ket
at people's doors

Hello, Midnight
guarding the silence
in the dim suburbs

Hello, Midnight
whispering poems
to writers & poets

neon light of slow
revolving doors in this
dumb, silent sleep

The poet stirs the
rain drops, the sky bends and folds
an old cat stretches.

It's raining again
& I'm writing poetry again
fresh coffee in my cup

what to write, what to write
about childhood, love or human rights
the rain is falling outside

& I've done all that before
so I'm searching for the poet
inside myself & looking for

odd lines that may take my fancy
meanwhile, the rain is falling outside
& the sky can't be seen for clouds

' I'm just another poet
on a rainy day'
I whisper

the sky doesn't answer

We go to Ikea having taken
the road through the allotments
& the Park which dates back

to Victorian times.
Inside the store
we grab at rugs & bowls

lie on the beds
until someone frowns
at us & we leave to

sit in the restaurant
with Swedish apple cake
& coffee, reminiscing

of the road we used to take
on the M48 bus to the store
which was near Spandau

one of the earliest settlements of Berlin
where the first Slavs
settled & lived

& how we had
back then a family card
to give us free coffee


before it all fell apart