-on a 30th anniversary

If you're standing on a square
Just realize
It isn't selfevident

They may kick you off
Anytime
Anyhow

If you're standing on a square
Just realize
You're entitled to

They can't kick you off
And if they did
Hold it against them
Anytime
Anyhow

-on a person's 20th birthday

When I turned twenty I couldn't wait,
so sure was I to change the world.
Exactly right were all my thoughts
I couldn't ever stop to state.

So I turned fourty while I built and built
on top of my precisely stated schemes.
My loved ones warned me for collapse
but I would never stop, in it to the hilt.

When I turned sixty, felt a faint crack,
not in my infallible buildings
but in my overstressed back.

Now that I am eighty years of age
I know the way to perfection:
the missing line in your design
opens your cage for the future page.

-on a settled man's doubts

Go, young man, I said one night.
Go chase the fading height,
before it fades away forever.

Now the people over there
are just like us, you know:
at fading heights they stare.

But if your urge brings you there,
smash your bitter bottle against the pristine top.
By the **** of baptism let an old man know
how well you fare.

O yes, young man, please let me know
I did the right thing to remain
and send you out, so I could abstain
from capricious actions all my life.

-on the pursuit of happiness

Let me pity your feet,
those innocent souls,
squeezed relentlessy
just for the sake of glory.

Let me balm your feet,
wash away the wounds,
mend what is broken,
soothing mute dispair.

Let me lay my forehead
on top of your toes.
Let them gently
speak their wisdom.

And I will go and join, again,
the madness of this world.

But let me feel the earth
in this crazy pirouette,
our reaching up, up, up:
digging deep, while scraping skies.

In the dark I entered my home.

I came to see
if anything was left,
anything of you and me.

I didn't realize I was blind,
the darkness was in me.

Until your lips touched mine.

-from Venice: a tipsy gentleman
bursts into song for his escort girl

If I only could admire your feet, forever,
I would pray to live on
and live on - pray, forever.

     I know I am not the only one.
     So glad to follow this tranquil lot,
     these fine and happy admirers,
     who bow to pay your offertory.

To join this choir,
these humble connoisseurs
who yield to your glory.

     I stumbled, hit the bottom,
     today lost all that I possessed.
     My head, my mind, my soul -
     so incredibly clear now,
     ready to follow, eager to bow
     for the urge of my heart.

To join this song,
sung in eloquent silence,
turning to the mystery of your feet.

     This moment is eternity,
     far away my petty desires.
     It is perfect time, the only time,
     never started, never ends.

If I only could admire your feet, forever,
I would pray to live on
and live on - pray, forever.

     No sound, no sight, no smell, no taste -
     this channel opened in my heart.
     No boat, no lapping waves,
     no misty vapours shining in the night -
     just the clarity of clarity:
     a foothold for us all.

-on a mummy whisperer encouraging an ancient,
   dedicated servant to worship his mistress once again

Come, rise, out of your bandages.
Do not fear her reptile grin,
those dead, cold, killing eyes,
that lacerating tongue.

Watch that glimmer of hope:
the naivety of her simple feet,
those loose phalanges calling for bonds.

Come, kneel, kiss them tender!
Those harmless toes,
that innocence, clumsy and unspoiled.

Now love, hope and fear can make you
find yourself in bandages, again.
Look upward, eyes shut...
Loose yourself in cosmic lights:
her toe tips brightly guide you through the night.

-on a periodic nausea of the wall of life

God, I hate nature:
it's your face, your countenance
- it's just too close.

     Listen to the bubbling,
     this industrious din
     of an underwater world.

It's your toes, your feet,
your legs, your body: yourself.
You and me, that's you.

     Read the intestines,
     this plant for ****:
     it feeds the brains.

It's me as you look
in the mirror of my dreams,
strong, brave and untrue.

     This triumph of nature,
     this boasting blubber,
     always on the edge,
     just one step from the abyss.

It's me that is you,
any side is real, a blunt wall;
no room left for me.

We heard of your distress,
so here's a little consolation,
a wish for good health
for you and your fragile nation.

Some good advice also, no assault
at your righteous vindication;
a lovely maxim from each of us,
that will bring you highest elation.

     Verbal abuse won't help anyone.
     Legal games won't save the day.
     Incessant bullying won't impress a battered people.
     Cracking down on critique won't bring silence.
     Knocking out the truth won't bring clarity.
     Stopping necessary change won't bring back the past.
     Sure, it's always the right time to face the facts together.
     Y wait, visit us, let's share our thoughts and hopes today.

You're always welcome in VLICKSSY!

-on seeing Yves Marchand's pictures of an
abandoned miners island near Nagasaki

What will remain of us,
industrious ants,
when all that we work for
comes to an end?

A dusty cupboard
in a murky corner.
Two empty bottles,
one for wine, one for apple juice.

No trace of our names.
Gone are the honours.
All that we strive for...
just thin air on an empty shelf.

It's peace again,
peace at last.
It's what we deserve,
our just reward.

-for Easter, on a body appearing in the melting snow

You can see now...
you can breathe, freely:
nothing can touch you now.

     Cry, suffer, die ...for a brother
     - by brothers you may live.

Every person has his breaking point,
I turned to drugs to ease the pain.
Do look down on me, a mirror,
having you reborn, a man again.

     Innocent like a still-born child,
     faithful like a sleeping foetus,
     ready like a falling seed.

Today it's me,
tomorrow... you.

-on a local beer at a local pub, or
another good reason to speak out as a poet

An angel in an apron offered me a drink.
"Here comes Eternal Youth," she said,
"it is meant to make you think."

     While I drank, the world billowed like a sail.
     Time went crazy, bladders appeared,
     the world's front peeled off like a veil.

Heroes and gods alike were humbled.
Their faces aged, their bones crumbled,
the wind swept away what remained of them.

     With them they took the light.
     I stumbled in pitch black darkness
     and man, from the deep I cried.

And then, suddenly, I knew:
my voice, that's me, I'm here!
I'm not too young to interfere!

     I shouted and pushed up the curtain,
     reflected light cut through the dark:
     the waving sea, time to embark!

My angel again was in her counsellor's role.
"Now sail in song forever," she spoke,
"raise your voice, save your soul!"

     I peered into the golden waves...
     and found it was this magic potion,
     that turned and turned in its majestic motion.

There is truth in wine but there's soul in beer;
and when it sends you spinning, sing, sing!
sing, so all the world can hear!

-on embarassment

When you break,
don't talk about it.

Rifts can be glued
but tears won't be forgotten.

It's the inside crushing
that breaks out.

Die, grow up, get born:
learn to forget.

When you break,
don't talk about it.

It's just your silent soul,
that mirror for pain.

At 1100 hours the guns went silent,
but for many men (and their families)
the Great War would carry on.

They had come to face a sneaky guest
that dug into them by surprise,
scraping skin and flesh and bone.

Shrapnel took their faces away,
digging ***** holes into their ears, eyes,
noses, cheeks, jaws, lips and teeth.

It took a pioneer of plastic surgery
to ****** it all back for them, not just the flesh
or just the bone but face, true face, their face.

Their faces finally looked back at them.
Now they found new friends, they stepped
through the mirror between two worlds.

-on that fatal day in Helsinki

It hurts the eye to watch a big star crumble,
not the man but the thing that should make him humble:
the honour to represent his country's prudent heart
- all washed away in ambitious fumble.

Ambition is a strange disease,
it slowly eats the brain, to please
the inner void's persistent hunger
- this hidden pain will never cease.

Don't blame a sick and hollow man
whose fever will bring him down again.
Let's pick a common guy with common sense
- 2020 is our time, o yes, we can.

Your voice is calling out to us,
it is the voice of the sea.
Let me drown like you, my friend,
they'll never be able to **** me.

Let us sing of foam and ashes,
let us shout and cry,
for we will never stop, we fools,
to loudly, proudly testify.

Let us shout the names
of all who refused to lie,
with all the breath we have,
with every wave, high, up, high!

-on the daily struggle with an ideal environment

     Summer

Woollen sweaters
in double panes, reflecting...
the blazing heat.

     Spring

Stale air
meets cigarette fumes:
the smile of a crack.

      Winter

Cotton shirts,
dripping sweat, chills...
a howling blizzard.

     Autumn

Burning leaves,
sharp smoke curling in:
a sprinkler's delight.

     Airco

Steady air
with ever-changing moods
in this one bottle...

Static climate
gets blown to raw shreds
- nature interferes.

-on a leader's departure

He who has no heart, may fill the hole
with quick success and loud dreams;
but greatness and eternal joy
may be reserved for brotherhood.

     Step down, step back now.

When you emerged,
a triumph over longtime racial neglect,
you confirmed:
we all are, we all can be brothers.

     It's simply our choice.

Each one of us deserves respect,
each one deserves care,
just for the plain fact of being alive.
No plight, no suffering, no fear apply,
no merit whatsoever needs to be added.

As darkness closes in on us,
your fraternal reign stands out even more.
No, it cannot end this way;
move on, travel this world, but don't forget us;
encourage us, anyhow, anytime, with your brotherly advice.

     Say "Hope", say "Hope again!"

-on a recent case of carefree worldviewing

I don't care for the kidneys,
I **** on the heart and the brains.
Like a tumor I keep growing,
I will crush whatever remains.

Let me push aside the wall
between your house and mine.
Let me party in your garden;
share your wife, join me, live the life!

To hell with the environment,
let me **** into another man's glass.
Burning, flooding, starving...
well, I didn't do so, right?
The guy complaining is just an ***.

Don't worry about the future,
by our inflated egos we'll lift off.
We'll shake our heads in disbelief
of the crazy turmoil underneath.

Don't you worry about your children,
'cause once, they will be dead like you.
Don't you worry about remembrance:
your inner void will see you through.

     Take care, my friend.

-a prayer for Jan 24th, Day of Shame. From the year 2217,
from the service book of a future denomination

It is time for repentance,
the annual pilgrimage.
To the doors of heaven
and the odours of hell.

     Let us visit your creation,
     the blessed pipe that bleeds.

Let us cross the barbedwire,
let us enter the tunnel.
Let us hear the trickling stream,
let us smell your ineffable breath.

     Let us visit our souls,
     our inner vagrant selves.

Let us look down into the black current
and watch your great flowing face.
And through it, in it, while we watch,
we sinners recognize ourselves.

     Let us visit your revelation,
     our tested veins that bleed.

From the deserts of the great plains
to the drowned cities of the coasts...
Your whip on our spines
confirms the evil that we host.

-on an old guy's christmas dinner and his small guests

I like a swift horse on the table.
On our plates we have oats and wheat,
but it's on stories of the races
that we actually feed.

Let me offer him a brimful thimble
to sprinkle his wins with an immortal wine.
Let me gently take his head between *******,
pat his back a bit, a silver racing horse so fine.

Don't think I'm lonely, I'm no bore.
Last week I had the oxen and the ***,
exchanged ***** gossip on our saviour.

For new year's eve I'll invite a whale.
Serenely we will sing a sub-sea song:
"In bright blue bubbles, let's drown the year's old tail!"

-on his painting of the dog

It's such a strange place here,
we're always ready to go.
But when we think of leaving,
it seems we just don't know.

Did someone tell us to linger?
Was it death that asked us
to wait for its eager return?

This sulky sullen guard,
this safe and sorry heart
will steadily keep on beating
until the night's black start.

Did someone tell us to pray?
Was it life itself perhaps
that came to us and went away?

-an old man's lifelong goodbye to a bitter folly

The moon is hot,
It burns the safest brain
With cool promises.

     Let's go, young lover, go!

The girl you adore
Knocks your feet of the ground,
A slap of plain truth.

By her stone cold gaze
She sends your teeth rattling - now
She takes your shy faith.

By her words of ice
She breaks your foolish dreams - now
She takes your poor fate.

     O young lover... go, just go.

The moon, dead and cold,
Profoundly sober,
Sends its final glow.

The skies, black and blue
On a freezing April morning,
Wake up shivering.

     Young, young lover - go, just go.

We don't like jokes in India
Our beloved leaders are so pure
We cannot stand the slightest tainting
Their lilly-whiteness might endure

Our happy comrad may be an ape
Perhaps a rabbit, a dog or a snake,
But even if he were a crocodile
His impeccability should never be at stake

Our happy fists will help you to recall
The mercy and the strength of our leaders
Grace, wit and reason we don't need
Now go to Pakistan, you and your readers

-on an old person's incredible patience

How strange you are,
hugging and kissing me.
I dare not stop you,
you may turn against me.

You must be someone else,
a person I have never met;
and I'm not pleased to meet you
since the first time that we met.

I wish you let go.
Just let me be...
Just-let-me-be.

This isn't me, you know.
It's really me
that's just not me.

-on dysthymia

Me, myself and I
don't give me comfort
while I deeply sigh.

Was it the father,
the son or the holy ghost
that I prayed to most?

Don't get me wrong,
I like the days and nights I've seen.

It's just that I belong
to something in between.

I like bananas,
their clothes so cool and smooth...
hmm, no taste required.

-on our peace of mind

I like you like I like you,
you *****, ugly, unshaven guy.

I was muttering in the bathroom, complaining about
my colleagues, cold coffee, women and the world in general,
when I heard a knock on the door.

But there was no one else.

Then it came again and I realised
the knock was inside my head.

I looked in the mirror, looked again and I thought
it could be that ******* looking back to me.

He cannot do without me.

I won't do without him.

And knocking each other is all we can do.

-on explanations in the bathroom

Here I am, with all my crap,
a stupid looser,
swept beside, off the map.

And you tell me I should behave...
I am no *****,
it's just, you know, I am a ****** slave.

It's alcohol, it's coke;
it's pride, it's shame, it's greed;
you name it,
all that stuff that you don't need.

I'm glad you're perfect, nice and clean,
it's good to see you, though you're mean.
Myself, I'm different, to me that's clear:
I only watch myself from the rear.

-on my mother's last months, or how
to do the final step without moving

I am not ready to go, she said.
I accepted doctor's verdict;
still, I ask: why me, why now, why?

     I hate these vultures, mother,
     that eat you from inside.
     I faintly see them through your skin,
     not even trying to hide.

I am not ready for resignation.
I am so angry about all this.
I am so angry with you.

     Your heart is cut in half
     and all we see
     is darkness:
     distrust, anger, fear.

I am not ready for all the answers
that wait for me on the other side.
Oh, let me have my questions please.

     Your brains are chopped to pieces.
     Little spans of time -
     that's all you keep in mind,
     and dismiss again with ease.

I am not ready to go.

     A premature Tibetan burial,
     a cruel death while still alive:
     witness of your own decay.
     So that's how Mother Nature will finally arrive?

I'll never be ready to go.

     Wait until she comes over the top,
     an almighty demon, an enemy from within.
     So that's our clean, sober, rational world:
     a cold, efficient killing machine?

I'll never be ready to go.

     I'll never be ready to go.

-on mankind's best pair of friends

Man's able pal goes on all fours,
A friend for life, they say.
No doubt more kinship can be found, they say...
'Genome GTF2I can make us all go friendly'
Softly licking strangers' hands and face.

Able turns to Elba,
Bonaparte's final home.
Let old mankind's vices be locked up there,
Elba is such a lovely quiet place.

Peace on earth will certainly arrive,
After genome GTF2I will have reshaped man
Like the friendly dog we share the genome with.

-on scattering the remains of two persons

I like the whispers of the tree
I saw last night with eyes closed;
one day it will speak to me,
my final understanding host.

We poured the ashes of our parents
into a hole we dug in the rough;
our father dark, our mother white,
nutrition for a tree, bent and tough.

Out in the wild there is no straight,
clean, happy soul; no creature
can survive unless it bows.

It takes a dream to live in freedom,
to atone your crooked past:
unending sleep to get this close.

-on empty life and aimless power: a guy's
big party that happened without him

Laughed out loud this morning
happy, lightly, free,
softly stumbling down the stairs
- but really, god it isn't me.

Broken glass in the living
scrunching under my feet,
torn portraits, burnt letters,
melted bottles, boiling books
- hahaha, no, it wasn't me.

Went out, caught fire, blew up
- don't know for which cause.
Touched down on the balcony
- from the victims no applause.
Hot red footprints ten inch deep
- not mine, I was sound asleep.

Hmmm, fresh air,
can smell it through the window glass.

Who is this guy outside,
stretching out his arm to me?

Just wondering...
will they ever remove these bars,
so we can shake hands?

-on cracking and crushing

It's hard
to conduct oneself
when candy's on the shelf

It's there for the taking
my decency is breaking
I feel I slip away

Where's that hopeless helping hand
of my helpless hapless father
Now I need it, not in my shirt
and for once not under my skirt

Who on earth can help me stand
against this hapless hopeless bar
It ***** me empty
me - imploding star

-on a Miami academic being sued
   for fetish ****** harassment

Quitchie of Reid,
you and your electric feet -
you make my safety fuses blow
when I see the tapping of your toe,
slowly touching a tile beneath.

Have mercy on a man in chains,
whose decency goes down the drains
once tortured by the endlessly enthralling sight
of your hot, sweet, cruel might
that boils the blood inside his veins.

Ah... Quitchie of Lewd,
you're so electro-cute.
One day my arm will stretch,
your soles, your toes, your nails I'll catch
and down I'll go in flames -
happy, void and mute.

-on a decent starting point, or the act of breathing

I'm not fit
to live the life,
to shrug the burden
off my shoulders.

Weep, weep...
woosh - woosh - woosh,
dang-dang, dang-dang:
bye bye, bye...

There goes your train...
Let it go, let it go!

Let the air breathe your lungs,
let the wind bleed your ears.

Then ask
what you really -
what you really want:
what you - or I - really need.

-on the spirit of passion

My life had ended, so I felt,
when your eyes found mine.
You dragged me up to heaven
- the heat caused my will to melt.

My reborn self drowned in your beaming eyes.
Your ardent face steamed away my flesh;
my spirit, pure and longing, stood naked
- only at your service now, only yours my ties.

Let me take the final step, I cried.
Unshackle my heart, unwrap my love,
undo the border between you and me
- our nova will disrupt all selfhood that we hide.

My love flamed high towards your feet above.
It burned itself and turned to ashes,
its sole remainder its humiliated, aching root
- and still a new twig grows from the stump of love.

How could I ignore your whispering song?
The voice of your leaves filled my head,
you took my hands, you bowed my knees -
a gardener's prayer makes a tender love grow strong.

A storm shook my spine and my sacrosanct place!
The more I pressed my face against your trunk,
the clearer I saw two radiating planets rise
- attracting me with liberating gaze.

It's you, and you, and you, my beloved friends,
it's the asking glance we see in each and all.
My life has ended with my questions now -
now that your responding eyes found mine.

Psychotria Elata needs your discretion,
its hot lips' bloom is premature,
****** showing at her best.

Close your eyes,
don't watch her flowers coming out,
the shock will **** your desire.

Psychotria Elata needs your protection,
its secret toes that root the soil,
may soon be dangling burned and bare.

Open your eyes,
stop the men ravaging the forest,
stop them from taking what they want.

-on a contemporary religion: https://youtu.be/FDZmTXkwcNA

Kneel in the sun, count your money
Clutch 'm for the summer breeze
Hotter than hell is counting your money
While greenback devils grin from the trees

Let a hailstorm touch the roof's gutter
Like piano keys hit by a fool
Now you hear what you want to hear
Casino's cash machines finally deliver

Let the days disappear forever
Let the night get as dark as can be
There is a shiny silver dollar there
Beaming mercilessly at you and me

-the global strongman, and how to survive him

"Our leader is a good man,
he knows what is right."
He needs no wicked science,
all he needs is strong believers.

     They don't like competence, they hate discretion.
     Cast down your glance for their eager eyes.

"Ang aming mga lider ay isang mabuting tao,
alam niya kung ano ang tama."
He is an ardent lover of justice,
killing criminal vermin at all cost.

     They want to bring you down, my friend,
     they like us unlike them.

"Wǒmen de lǐngdǎo shì yīgè hǎorén,
tā zhīdào shénme shì duì de."
He needs no shrewd lawyers,
he senses who is guilty.

     By hunger and chaos they make you foul your mouth,
     our hate and cursing will set us all apart.

"Nash lider - khoroshiy chelovek,
on znayet, chto pravil'no."
Now don't get naughty,
you know, just behave.

     Raise your head, man, raise your feeble voice:
     let's sing our songs, let's come together.

"Liderimiz iyi bir insandır,
doğru olanı biliyor."
He's towering above all of us,
he'll crush the faintest uprising upfront.

     Heureux qui comme Ulysse a fait un beau voyage
     - et puis est retourne plein d'usage et raison.

     Fortunate the guy who fared well on his travels
     - and returned, a man of the world, full of wisdom.

"Our leader is a good man,
he knows what is right."

-faking breaking news

Hurray!
The United Kingdom will become the 51st state of the USA. This decision has not been officially announced yet, but it will soon be done, according to our informal source near Prime Minister dr. Farage. "A newly independent nation needs a strong arm to guide its steps towards prosperity, " our beloved PM recently stated, so this move should not come as a surprise.

Strong support
We all know dr. Farage's sympathy for a strong and straight approach, which has only increased during the past three years of versatile and energetic priority swapping. The tremendous successes of this period were achieved also by the practical and moral support of our American friends. Therefore we are convinced that the proud accession to this successful union of states will re-energise our traditional institutions, thus supplying new vigour to the independence we won in the glorious year 2019.

Just sign
It is expected that mr. Kushner, US secretary of foreign affairs and acting vice-president, will soon invite our beloved PM to sign the treaty. US officials made it clear to us there is no need for the UK to worry about the details.The terms of the treaty will be completely defined at Trump Super Tower; all the UK will have to do is sign. This will help the UK to seamlessly become a highly successful and inseparable part of the prosperous United States.

Highly valuable
The safety of the UK will be guaranteed by the permanent presence of the US navy at Scapa Flow, where joint operations will be performed with Russian or EU fleets. And the Irish will be happy: the Irish border will be effectively removed since many (if not most) Irish people have become Americans long ago, and for many years the Republic of Ireland has been successfully advised by great US-based privately owned firms. These firms, that are also active in the UK, will turn the UK into a highly valuable hub between Europe and the US. For the first time in history EU citizens will be able to reach the USA by car only, via Ireland or the Calais-Dover tunnel. This will also be the preferred access method since public transport, and public services in general, are expected to be dismantled - for the benefit of us all.

-on the justification of poetry

I saw a rose I couldn't smell.
Though pointless as it seemed,
her thorns have taught me all my life
there's truth in what I dreamed.

Blessed was the day when poetry came of age,
it saved me from pacing back and forth in my cage.

Blessed are the lines that should be carved in stone,
they helped my hand to leave the bottle alone.

Blessed are the words that saved my life,
the words that fed my selfless strife.