She has packed her things,

she is the moon with the sun –


shining in her eyes.

I finished eating,

do I wish to remember –


the delicious taste?

We are living in a poor country
since we took it back
and whoever stays must pay

in kind, we take it
very personally, man by man
with violence, we subject

the last woman to our right
to penetrate her like she
and the other foreigners

have, for six generations
penetrated our lives, that's how
we ****** our daggers of hate

in her, she is defenseless
her dogs stay still
in their blood, she too has

to resign herself to her fate
the disgrace of life
and the grace of death

The fish requests for

asylum, with a suitcase –


I open my mouth.

The sun takes a stand

in the middle of the street --


breathing burning hot.

Philosophy does

not help you to become learned --


but to be virtuous.

A day at the beach,

autumn does something to me --


but I don't know what.

My ear is colour positive
the red rim boils
from your words, a bright
light bursts from the auricle
and hangs in front of my mouth

in front of my held breath
my lips not quite open
my thoughts unspoken

my look colour negative
with well blooded brains
crossed arms, glowing
with suspicion and defiance
with the desire to attack

You won't get away with it
you won't get away with it
you won't get away with it

No fast traffic here
no high steel and concrete
in the streets, but
walkable space

The sun draws attention
away from us, towards the light
on the black facades on the harbour
the white cornices and red tiles:

the picture for the photos
of the tanned tourists
on the terrace of the tanhouse
who walk into our gardens

as if we live here
in an open-air museum
and should praise
their silly insolence

as a decent interest
But we can live with it
The visitors walk around
in a parallel reality

and we have real neighbours
a wide sky, the wide water
and the green island
We can breathe here

as the wood breathes
in the seasons
as the wind breathes
in the grass

The pebble: I shrank,

it grew into a mountain --


with me on top now!

Because HelloPoetry requires a CSRF cookie I leave

Best wishes to all my readers

Time is fluid, here

on the plane, we are floating --


in moments of now.

To my arms rushes

the happiness of her eyes --


straight into my heart.

I need strange hard hands

to plough me, tearing apart --


your roots inside me.

Everyone's busy,

me too, if I don't take care --


and forget myself.

(Translation below)

Kulupu kulupu
Lon li pona pona
E suno li pona
E *** kin li pona

En mi sijelo kin
sina sijelo kin
telo e kasi en
e kili li pona



Moku mute li pona
Lape mute li pona
Olin li pona pona
mi olin e mi mije

tan o ona li pona
Ona li pona mute
Unpa musi li pona
Unpa mute li pona



Pali pona mama mama
pali pona pona
E suno li pona
pona pona pona

Lon li pona pona
pali pona pona
Mi olin e sina
tan e sina li pona

----------------------------------------------------

Peopl­e people
It's very good to live
The sun is good
Clothes are good too

And my body too
your body too
water, the plants and
the fruits are good



Eat a lot is good
Sleep a lot is good
Love is very good
I love my man

because he is good!
He is very good
The joy of *** is good
Often *** is good



Thank you mum dad
thank you very much
The sun is good
very very good

It's very good to live
thank you very much
I love you
because you are good

Being impatient

is just a matter of time:


having too much time.

Death penalty: could

be, but it's risky to train--


executioners.

The priest is too old,

not suitable for people --


not for God either.

True love may be tired,

not capable, not obliged --


just sweet, a sweetheart.

On the horizon

the sun is humming, turning --


the pink fingers pale.

Something isn't right, if

you live more than usual --


during holidays.

War: I run away,

then it steals the sounds I have --


not taken with me.

I don't know how much

longer, but now, I'm with you --


now, I laugh with you.

Women being watched

when they enter, nervously --


cling to their handbags.

Chatterchick is scattering cackles
because my husband follows
a truth of his own again and in vain
I am looking for silence

Blacky is in the dumps
sighing that she suffocates
in the darkening darkness
where it's never silent

It won't work!
Bring nuts and bars of chocolate!
Madam settles herself
to savour it in silence

I wish it were so
easy, Chatterchick cries
Bonkers, Fatty, Layabout
they taunt; Silence, Silence, I

shout, Get out! I'm going
to think of something else
or thoughtlessly
do sports, get tired

I wish it were so
easy, Chatterchick cries
and the dumps are moaning
and the sofa is snoring

I'm scared by a foot-

print in the sand, exactly --


my foot does fit in.

Squat down, knees to chin,

and your arms tight around them --


safe like angel's wings.

I'm a sane person,

but out of love I believe --


in some afterlife.

You don't have to say a thing
not even my name
we walk a bit

from embrace to embrace
securing all the preceding
deep in our belly

Maybe there is too much
to discuss, but soon
half words will be enough

and we will kiss each other
with poetic sentences
full of love in their gaps

like our whole life is
an agenda full of gaps
filled with friends

care and roses
experiences kept deep
in our belly without words

Dying means little

without fantasy, else it's --


about everything.

The past is a rope,

a tangled ball of knots, play --


with it, like a cat.

We'll wash the dishes,

talking between silences --


only, do not sing!

For children's sorrows

there's mama, as a hanky --


which doesn't cry itself.

The fortress: I roll out my mat
in the silence of sleeping cicadas
The wind is warm, time crawls
with the sun to Naples

It's all in my head
high above the noise of life

of crowded streets and shops
where the money never rolls far
looks are leery, kisses are fleeting
and hands are groping

It is not right
I start a storm
sweep chairs from the terraces
slam doors and blow dust

like night through the city
Guy-wires and bars rattle
a dog whines and a cat
glares at the perch

in the water of the harbour, wild
from my rebellious thoughts
that lie down after all
between the snails on my mat

I am not as good

as I can be. I'm afraid --


of God. Pray for me.

She's upset: I didn't

look at her for a second --


but at the roses.

Out of my kindness

I do things big, learn from me:


small is good enough.

Modern Construction

regards doors as a problem --


and reinvents them.

Trees along the road

continue to grow as if --


nothing had happened.

Father, now waddling

from left to right, seems to walk --


on spherical feet.

Changing one's name
after a scandal, it works
with time

Cain could do everything
he made tools
grew beans and grasses
with edible seeds and
built a house of loam

He created what he invented
but who still wants to know now?
His name has been black-washed

so the grandchildren just
had to deny him, no
their grandfather was Seth
the only real
son of Adam and Eve

who dug little canals
and made bedsteads
who created what he invented

Some people blame me

for my normal, daily face:


You should have a rest!

The empty chair may

not be my father's chair, but --


I do miss him now.

I make up enough endings
in my mind, knowing
that life continues
with little metabolism
of what ceases to exist
but it is difficult

to take it lightly
while you feel it happening
My heart does want to breathe
wisdom, but it needs blood
to feel the warmth of love
flowing in me, in and out

receiving and giving
around the earth, gathering
in the sea, the salmon swim
back and forth, it snows and rains
the hazel is in bloom
and will give a basket full of nuts

Princes, princesses,

like everyone, each of us --


is an honoured guest.

Flashes of lightning

briefly reveal the garden --


a flower at night.

Then I heard the sound

of only one clapping hand –


and my cheek turned red.

He is leaving me,

though I tried my best so much --


It was not enough.

Snowflakes are floating

between the blossoming trees –


like flower petals.