not even a sketch*
Category : Not Funny

Panicking,
panic stricken,
cannot think
about anything ****.
I am down
to the last three cigarettes
and one ****.

I feel
like a criminally
challenged idiot;
will have to
patch,
**** out
eventually.

How sad.

(4-17-07)

He keeps knocking
on my midnight ceiling;
until morning
he occupies my mind.

Invades my innermost thoughts,
I have no peace,
he doesn't want to leave me be.

I don't know how to get rid of him,
he doesn't leave my space;
he waits outside, in the streets.
Surprises me, as I'm turning a corner,
falls like a bookmark
from the book
I read.

He knocks on my door
in vain;
I don't want to hear anything.

I see him passing the glass windows
of second-hand stores, where he buys
slightly used,
still in a good condition
looking like new
carefully restored
love.

I am not purchasing
what once
belonged to someone else.
I won't wear
someone else's love

(3-6-07)

Crowded rooms filled with all revealing
fluorescent light.
Patiently waiting faces of all colours,
painful bodies,
broken bones, damaged hearts,
crying babies in strollers.

Wheel chairs of the waiting rooms.

TV set announces bad weather,
and bad news in whispers.

GPs running the Marathon
of waiting rooms.

Next!
Ill-pronounced names by a nurse;
off to yet another chamber to wait.

Noon hour closed
for lunch.

Patiently waiting impatient,
and nervous patients
waiting endlessly
for the sentencing,
by the good doctors.

Appointments with death.

Out again
into rain
of the sick outside world,
last words of waiting rooms
wrapped up in pills.

(4-17-07)

Masculinum Hyppeastrum,
monstrum;
the man eating
botanica,
the endlessly flowering plant,
had enough of me.

Went to sleep,
or worse,
he perished.

I must have said something nasty
about his size;
doesn't flower anymore,
all dried out,
doesn't do a thing,
his onion is weeping.

Christmas roses,
as I call the girls,
lost the will
to live.

All my,
previously green, flora
is pointing her leafless finger
at me.

I've done nothing,
that's the problem.
I forgot all about my green plants;

the environment is wrong,
there is too much acidity,
and that's my fault.

I will search
under the garden snow
for snow drops,
I left to themselves
two years
February,
my snow tears.

For colour,
I have lemons and limes,
green and yellow;
sitting on a traditionally,
blue, hand-painted
Chinese china platter.

River Yangtze
is still running through my mind.
Chai,

Lemon tea and lemonade.

~
Author Notes
Flowering plants from Bahia : Hyppeastrum sp.
From the 1970s, many plant novelties from Bahia
came to light with the expeditions carried out
by Howard Irwin and collaborators
of NYBG (USA) and by Raymond Harley
from RBG-Kew (UK). This provoked a renewal
of interest, among botanists, in the flora of Bahia

(3-1-07)

sketch*

I have no words,
nothing to say;
I am an empty shoe box
left over from a pair
made in Mexico
that went
out of fashion
already
at the end
of the
last century.

(4-6-07)

bye, bye, pie in the sky*

I made a dream

I made you out of nowhere,
Out of the mountain snow and out of the air.
I was spinning your head
On my spinning wheels
Out of warm sunshine and out of cool moon beams.
For months and months,
I was spinning your head.

I was weaving your hair
Out of silky threads
For weeks.

Carefully pedaling my old fashioned,
Singing
Sewing machine,
I spent nights
Stitching adornments on your pockets,
Embroidering your cuffs.

Crochet crazy,
I crocheted laces for your sheer enjoyment
And for your windows,
Hooked on the crocheting hooks
Way up high.

I knitted sweaters
For your sacrificial lambs
Of colourful wools.

You are almost finished,
My just a dream, just a dream,
I'll let you go
With the African hot wind.
I am all done
With you.

Sorry, I couldn't hold on
To my golden
Knitting needles
Any longer.

(1-16-07)

~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.