I feel the discomfort
of staying where I am
and leaving the problem

to someone else's job or duty
to the neighbours with whom it happens
on the outskirts of the village

It's urgent, there is need
to fix the houses and the barns
but

it takes too long
or there is too little time
for my impatience

I talk with the neighbours
while we wait
until we can move on

within reason and the rules
of the comfort of staying
where we are

Away with strict rules

to prolong my existence --

I keep on Living.

Away with the vice

squad-patriarchy: I am --


Boss Of My Belly!

A white vibration,

of the blossoms, I shiver –


for what is to come.

A wink: I look back,

he promises something, but –


what do I believe?

Awkwardly he holds

my hand, just like in photos --


from the olden times.

A worm in my head

wants to wriggle at my fate –


it drives me crazy.

My home
if it still exists
in the wrinkles and grey hair
where I rest

My body
stiff from the years, all
so long ago, you too
my dear unknown

My soul
full of tears, memories
of your sweet lips
never to be forgotten

My song
my breath, still singing
where I stop
coming back

At home on the couch
I crumple the edges
of the puke bag

The old times, the old songs
the excuses for the postponement
of the promised future

are back, back
from not having been away

We're still at home
in Old Man State, our
freedom was a dream

There are no more musicians
and no more beautiful
girls from Ukraine

The iron cold is back, back
from not having been away

Back from the city,

I clearly see, rich people --


here are just paupers.

Back 'home' after years.

What will I come across there?


Can it still exist?

Back in Amsterdam!

So, why aren't people shining --


here with happiness?!

I met someone and asked
'Where are you going? Something special?'
There's a large field over there
where I will sing
to free my soul

People are golden, star
dust in the large, large field
- finally back in the garden
'Oh, can I come with you?
Out of the smog!'

We just spin around
in mists without a view
but very perhaps
something changes
in time, or in me

The army no longer throws bombs
but food and drinks
on all the hungry people
without money, devilish money
- finally back in the garden

Back in the Garden

of Love, I walk around lost --


among gravestones.

Back in the old house,

silently, we fill the boxes –


with our mama's life.

Man is a wild animal
in a herd, a group
that organizes
to be tamed

but it's not easy
to get the systems right
There are unexpected effects
or oppressive requirements

No one is responsible
Deposing leaders, killing
dictators makes no difference
The people tolerate the successor

Help is needed
From the outside, but
the borders are deadly
to humanity

So I must appreciate little
things, a glance
the clouds, fresh bread once
and dream what is forbidden

Crippled, skinny gull
puddles in the potholes
of empty streets

holes in the walls
the school closed, no one
who could leave stayed

after the riots
no one who was released
from the cells

Losses have been taken
suitcases packed
the water shut off

Old town, dead harbour
where I was at home and would
have liked to come back

clean your white steps
turn on your lights, please
turn on, turn on again

Barefoot, my mother

squats next to me in the grass --


very intimate.

Battles and heroes

of the past are homages –


to ******, shameless.

Your cloths are already dry
but I just let them flap
so at least something is happening
in this deserted place

You just sit there watching
taking a dip every now and then
Afterwards you carefully dab
the short hairs on your skull

I liked you better in the bar
although you were bragging
about your house and the beach
all to yourself

You showed your brown chest
I wanted to lie on it
and work on my tan a little
so nice by the sea

No, you are not social
the day is still long
and there is nothing here
to cook a good meal

I am sitting on the full power
of 210 horses, running
across Rooster beach
I exist, I live
ouring fast

my soul devours the surf
and the dune, the landscape
of my freedom, my dream
and reality fall together
on the border of the sea and friends

where I embrace my Norton
strong, autonomous, and free
I create image by image
life from my desires
I create love in myself

All people look at me
but no one sees me
Their looks stop at their fantasy

That's how it is to be almost a goddess
inhuman, an image, an avatar
around my body

concealing that I exist
and preventing me from dying
although everyone wants to **** me

for what It has done
in its creative drive
from which I was born

As if I can do something about
the way men and women see me
and what follies they commit

for the phantom with my name
which is immortal and naked
looking fixedly at them

so that their weapons fall
and they reconcile
with their dreams

I have no worries
no other than ***
and the question of what love is
How do I keep his attention?

I'm trying my best
to converse intelligently
and wittily, but
I don't lose the feeling

that our marriage is a play
In bed, he stares away from me
while caressing and making love
He doesn't see my loneliness

but makes the most of it
he keeps me safe in his arms
before he gets active, and then
puts me to sleep on his chest

on his heart, which beats so
quietly and intangibly for me
when it suits him
He doesn't see my beauty

Beauty: a flower,

two people in love, or three --


high bar releases.

Beauty: an angel

of terror who despises –


to sweep us away.

Be careful, my love

is heavy, you will get tired --


and then you'll leave me.

Be careful, my love

is heavy, you will get tired --


and then you'll leave me.

Be careful with Plans:

if you keep altering them –


you'll go in circles.

Broken contact, what can you
say about it, do you have to
talk about missing it?

Having lost someone
who is still there, but never with you
not as it could have been

Having our own lives, you
because you decided so
and I because it is that way

If it wasn't so
we would feel
what we don't feel now

mutuality, togetherness
a sideshow though, yes
we let life flow

It can go around obstacles
it does not need any comment
and no afterword

Because HelloPoetry requires a CSRF cookie I leave

Best wishes to all my readers

Be cross, be angry,

but please, don't do anything --


for once and for all.

Boys look past
my shyness
I don't understand

So beautiful I see my feelings
in my face, my forms
in the mirror

Why doesn't anyone
want to enjoy me?
The beauty of a boy

discovered inside and out
by my skin
my curious body

In other people's houses
I capture the beds
in my dreams

None of them invite me
Can they see in me
how critical I am?

In me is the silence
that is not there
in the middle of 50,000
Irish bees

that are a black cloak
over my pale skin
my body is their heart
it's beating faster

from their poison, I feel
connected, one
with life, one
with spring, the

loud buzzing
of love here on earth
upon me
within me

Before I can take

off my hat, I have to wait --


for a good moment.

Since that day I

old striped out tiger
in a young body

stand in another light
that undresses me, inexorably

untying the laces of my certainties
unbuttoning my habits and dreams

kissing open my eyes
to the beauty

of the abyss
and with a soft hand

taking off my immortality
The abyss isn't an abyss

if I fly and you
accept my hand: look at me

I'm looking at you
standing in another light

since that day when I was so happy
to be still alive - I am

after deep sighs, ready
to jump

Before the sunrise:

the gloaming greenish notlight –


of the dark blue sky.

Before they can speak

angels always have to wait --


for a listener.

Be generous, give

a like for a like, force it --


through the bad gateway.

Beginnings are small,

the big thing will come later --


I believed, I hoped.

Behind her: a man,

his head perched on her shoulder --


like a frightful hawk.

Behind me: rulers

with a look at the future --


instead of a face.

Behind the curtain

of his music he dances:


the master flautist.

The door is never locked
The key is just in it
ready to use
and never lost

but if you are busy
with problems on your mind
you will go look for it

and not get the idea
that you can just move on
by pressing the latch

Meditation does not help either
with the worries
you forget what is there
behind the door

and you stay where you are
calm and resigned
you put life into perspective

and you fantasize
how different it could be
behind the door

of your mind

Behind the heater

crickets chirp at their loudest –


to put me to sleep.

Being a hero,

still thoroughly despised --


for some bad manners.

Being an adult,

I just long for the longing –


to be an adult.

Being bored deeply

is a vague experience --


of all that exists.

Being civilized,

that is, friendly and polite –


no little white lies.

Being impatient

is just a matter of time:


having too much time.

Being in love, blind,

but don't be blind later on --


It would be the end.