the night in which
the dead come alive for a while

only to be frightened back to their graves
by the horrible masks and spectacles
of the living

I feel so uninspired
maybe because I’m tired
of all the nicely rhyming jingle
I’d rather wish that just a single
great thought or image would appear
of love or hate or lust or fear
unfold is imagery of riches
     no matter whether clowns or witches
that might be generally admired

alas, I am still uninspired…

the past casts
a long shadow
on our life

to unveil its mysteries
to trace
how we have
become what we are
demands a leap of faith

acknowledging
the nooks and crannies
of a life
that took its turns
not by strict logic
but at times
followed coincidental paths
   leading nowhere
& then retraced its steps
to surge ahead
sure of its goal again

running the wide road
to its predictable end
yet vaguely aware
of alternatives
that remain possible worlds
outside the choices
we made

meandering through life
at one corner of the labyrinth
we notice we have lost the string
that could have led us back
had we ever wanted

we do not worry much

to have it all
requires time and space
beyond our ken

looking back is fine
going back impossible

when I don't have
the pleasure of your presence

I always wish I could

you have the feeling
days go by
   in a sequence of unnerving sameness
punctuated only by familiar rituals
   without alternation

a sluggish stream of time
enveloping
   a history
  of not really noteworthy past events
and similar future ones

everything stays the same
   nothing changes

eternal boredom

this is hell

         * *

you have done wrong
you know it
you hate it
you cannot undo it

how do you cope with it
how can you
look at your face in the mirror
and live with it
  
how can you heal
the pain and hurt you caused
the wrongs you did

guilt is a dangerous friend
strong for some time
full with repetant deeds
   you go widely out of your ways
   to make up for past mistakes

yet over time
this may become a habit insincere
  you do the proper things
  but in your heart
  the hope diminishes
that they will show
   eventually
an exit from the past
   into a brighter future

leaving you
   stranded
in a world threatened by fake remorse
   where penitence becomes routine
   the rituals of asccusation and defense
play themselves out like in a loop
   in endless repetition
    without relief

the pain you caused
the wrongs you did
are thrown up in your face
with unrelenting fury
each time a knife
   twisting in slow motion
   right in your heart

each twist draws blood
and gradually you feel
   your lifeblood flow away
with each renewed attack
   determined will
   suffers another blow

temptation to give up
grows stronger and
   at times
seems like the way
   to ease
   tormented souls
   to break
   the self-destructive circle

if you fight on
   a battered knight
   in shredded armor
it is not out of guilt
but out of love
   that wants to heal the wounds
   you cut in selfish moments
out of responsibility
   for what you did
of which you are ashamed
and cannot love yourself
until she loves you back

   again

          * *

I listen to the mid-day news
wondering vaguely why
it sounds so familiar
     more or less
like what I heard this morning

    we know that repetition
    is a major didactic principle

yet lately it seems to have become
the dominant discourse
not only in the news
but also in discussions, panels,
pop songs  advertisments,  etc.

as if

repeating things
over and over again
made them ‚more‘ true

morning mists
along hilly country roads

the sun
   not quite awake yet
struggling to rise
above a drowsy
   Sunday landscape
sends out occasional
left-footed rays

we speed along
   quietly
images of the past
time together
on our minds

   walks on the beach
   and through old lanes
   dinners at the ocean
   wild nights
   lovely late mornings

we keep passing early churchgoers
in stirring villages

the sun keeps gathering strength
the world turns clear

the mists of our memories
dissolve into
the moment of parting

* *

when watching the news
many things sound abstruse

politicians speak out
but then they cast doubt
on what they actually said
and claim that they had
been sorely misunderstood
so for everyone‘s good
what they said should
     indeed
be deleted

with information thus defeated
we sigh deeply
     and though
we feel we‘ve been cheated
come home, take off shoes
and turn on the next news ...

one of the orchid blossoms dropped
when I came back without you

the last one is opening today

beauty lost in solitude

               * *

Nothing can possibly embarrass me anymore -
I am a mother

lost in alien space
Italians
posted their home culture
and worked for it

today

the Americas
     (and the whole western world)

would starve to death
   without pasta  pizza
  
and Michelangelo

"At the end of the day, only kindness matters."

if at all,
how to approach?

if approaching,
how to be accepted?

if being accepted,
how to avoid
too much of it?

if successfully avoiding,
how not to hurt
or miss
the most important?

if not avoiding,
how to maintain
yourself?

if maintaining,
more or less,
your sense of self,
how to transcend it?

and if transcending,
how to appreciate
the other
for what s/he is?

how to be close
without the pain
  of loss
upon retreat?

how to acknowledge
that the other
  always is
out there
  and yet
in here?

     * *

in september
the shadow of the arcades
   is almost too cool

on the plaza
before the Romanesque church
   children play soccer

their shouts
   pierce
the quietness

that radiates from the castle
   to the church
   and into the old town
   envelops the few
   customers of the osteria
   makes me want to write
   about us
   and the love in your eyes
over red wine & ham
   & white bread
under vaulting walls

* *

September has become
the cruelest month

reassembled
Hollywood disasters
at their worst
flipped into reality

as if
   we had needed that
as if
   we had not known
      that life is fragile
      and tall buildings
      can collapse
   taking thousands
   to sudden death

what is the point?

to prove
   that one can bring
   disaster
   to the undefended?

to demonstrate
   that minds bent
   on destruction
   can succeed
   if they plan long enough?

what a waste
   of lives and minds
and more to follow
most likely

does wordless violence
solve anything?

the heartless deed
the glamorous sacrifice
that calls for more
   and more
and more
neurotic spirals
of destruction, retaliation
and revenge
instead of global peace
now looms spectral war
born from self-righteous pride
the need to strike out
   fast and hard
against whoever fits
intelligence-created data
transferred to screens
   meticulously marked
coolly oblivious of the people
   who work and procreate
         and live
   in those fluorescent blips

domesticated energy
serves the omnipotent

   two millionaires’ sons
   turned public enemies

upon whose final global showdown
depends
the fate of yet more
   women
        men
           and children
to satisfy the need
for a just universe
where power flows
    undisturbed by laughter
   and the sounds
   of real people
        living
   in a real world

before we elect politicians
they present themselves full of ambitions
when elections are over
they go under cover
and blame others for their demolitions

no dead birds in the oven
no innards in the stuffing
nor fatty drippings to be scraped and poured

the smell of roasted veggies
wafts through  the wintry air
pumpkin and sweet potatoes
marshmallows  green beans  lentils
turnips  & collard greens
hashed browns & black-eyed peas
quinoa  sorghum cuscus hummus
carrots  leak  broccoli Romanescu
gumbo in southern regions
wild rice dishes in the north
tastily spiced with turmeric
cumin and baked paprika
Indian curry  soy sauce  chipotle
as well as with the usual suspects
of garlic  salt  and pepper
and whatever fits the taste of hosts

in short
a venerable feast to demonstrate
how nature feeds us a large cornucopia
of plants for our delight and sustenance

in short
no need to **** a bird

                * * *

sitting on my loggia

on a balmy spring evening
   after a short return of winter
a drink on my side
the birds chirping their evening song
the sun slanted
straight into my eyes

my favorite radio station
has declared jazz day
so I have been enjoying
Dizzie Gillespie, Charlie Parker
    Joe Zawinul, Benny Goodman, & cetera

lovely

yet I have the blues

I had to take
my woman to the airport today
she’s now miles away from me

she mailed me
she arrived safely

I am glad to know

but she still is
miles away from me

I have the blues

the last one
of the orchid blossoms
has fallen

down

I am leaving in an hour

            * *

it seems that Trump  Johnson  and Putin
are not really free of that gluten
which  though it be healthy
tastes only for the wealthy
like something not to dispute on

picking red currants
   in a familiar place
   now foreign to me
   after seven days
      of happiness
my mind
   is full of you

the mid-day sun
heats my body
as it did
   and still does
on the beach
where we lay side by side

looking at
the red
         ripe
             berries
my body aches
with desperate desire

the recent decisions of SCOTUS
show the mind of the previous POTUS
who’s stuck in the past
and cannot but blast
everyone who belittles his SCROTUS

reflections
of reflections
backlit by fire
and glaring light
in a world upside down
where masks reign

green

in its circumference
of mirrored silhouettes
that seem to be
looking for something
elsewhere

how does one end reigning
seventy years as Queen
of a former global colonial empire?

     elevated to the supreme icon
     of what's been right in Britain

to be sorely missed
after the most spectacular
of royal funerals has become history

in september
the shadow of the arcades
is almost too cool

on the plaza
before the Romanesque church
children play soccer

their shouts
   pierce
the quietness

that radiates from the castle
   to the church
   and into the old town
   envelops the few
   customers of the osteria
   makes me want to write
   about us
   and the love in your eyes
over wine & ham
   & white bread
under vaulting walls

* *

the world
is with me
on my way
through rolling hills
   green after spring rain

metallic evening light
casts into sharp relief
the contours of young leaves
and orchards blooming

a daring hare
   abruptly stops
      alarmed
by the approaching car
and in one
arching
jump
vanishes in the underbrush

the farmer neighbors
have taken to their beds already
when I nudge my engine smoothly
past their house
   and up the hill

to pick up my life
where I left it
   after breakfast

* *

wind is my friend
blows my thoughts
into lines
like fish jumping for dragonflies
on a hot summer afternoon

rain is my lover
falls into me
in steady gentle drops
fills me till I am
about to burst

sun is my brother
warms my body
with orioles of ancient light
among dark shadows
struggling to maintain
their shapes

moon is my other
casts a spell
over the cricket’s song
the smell of honeysuckle
the silhouettes
of a silver world

wind goes on
to blow on other ones
rain gathers its clouds
and soaks someone else
sun goes down
into darkness
moon turns so wan
it hardly shows
between the stars

I do not take it personally

nature is
like that

* *

some music
makes you feel
so very old and wise
so full of aching joy
and knowlegde of the world

it sums up
   all your life
   in sound

dew drops
   brilliant in the morning sun

haunting your memory
   beyond recall

I gather
Johann Wolfgang Goethe
   in his whimsy wisdom
was right to have his Heinrich Faust
   forego eternal bliss

   (and make a deal with the Alternative)

in his desire to arrest
a happy earthly moment

   transcend its evanescence
     in the flux of time

   give life to it
     by shape of word

and happily perish thereafter
   due to godly script

          * *

the sharp cry
   of a buzzard
draws widening circles
   in the summer sky

below
   small birds fall silent

a qiet moment
   expands into eternity

I grow tense
and cry your name
wishing so much

   so much

you were here
to share

it is hard
   to love
and feel that love
   is not returned in kind

it is hard
   to feel unable
to respond in kind
   to love so generously bestowed
   deep and sincere

it is hard to see
   what might have been
   a love together
even at a distance
   falling apart
   in silence and in tears
   because people and things
   have come between
in bad moments

it is very hard
   to lose
a lover
and
a friend

* *

when those leave
who have always been with us
we halt
   our step
and let our thoughts
    go quiet

as if we
   in our young years' busy-ness
could comprehend

or steal a glance
   over their shoulders
of that distant world
whereto
in due course
we will follow

only to see
how far ahead
they will forever be

          * *

last night
I had a thought
that felt like it might turn
into pure poetry

I clung to it
and tried to make it stay
and grow

but it went on its way

and I to sleep

nothing but memories to keep
   of possibilities

when the loud beep of my alarm
woke me to other thoughts
and yet another day

giving thanks
can be a very existential thing
as the legendary settlers in New England learned
when they arrived
   as illegal immigrants
and the natives
   though wary of their guns and swords
taught them to plant
   corn together with fish
and shared their harvest with them
   late in the year

giving thanks may be a very personal thing
whenever we travel far away
are given a friendly welcome
are fed and housed by the natives
and accepted into their families

giving thanks is a very human thing

it shows that we are aware
of the fragility of our life

that it always depends
on the kindness of strangers
who help us to survive
in their world

after all

we are aliens
in most parts of our globe

          * *

a glass of wine
   too many
can make us talk
may cut through layers
   of defenses
we’ve built around
   our core

and suddenly
we find the words
for thoughts we did not
even dare admit
   to ourselves

if we are lucky
it is the ones we love
   who listen to us
   in those moments
and understand
what has been growing
   deep inside
   unspoken
and gropes towards
whatever light
a slightly slurred voice
   may provide
in the wee hours of the morning
   speaking it all

from the balcony of the hotel
I keep looking down
upon the elderly man
living in a one-family home
across the street

he often sits
in a rickety chair
reading newspapers

in the mornings
an elderly woman
   his wife? the houskeeper?
airs rooms and sweeps

one afternoon
there are two teenage girls
chatting along on the balcony

but usually
it is the man
sitting and reading  
or     one night
walking the balcony

did he once
cry out silently in pain
when they built the hotel
and took away
his view over the bay?

or was he the owner
of the lot along the shore?

or are he
and the elderly woman
the grandparents
of the two teenage girls
spending the summer in a rented house?

I do not know

but I wonder why
he looks to me as if
he would rather be
elsewhere

       * *

there once was a beer named Corona
preferred by the youth with ‘persona’
they drank it with pride
but today they would hide
delight  has turned into a moaner

waking up to birdsong
   is lovely
but not always desired

yet our feathered friends
don’t care whether we
   suffer from last night’s fun&games
   or lay awake with troubles on our minds
        or babies crying

they chirp their heart out
   at the crack of dawn
to greet the still grey silhouette
   of the day
   soon to be cast in  colorful relief
when light comes back again
   and darkness cedes

they make us open our eyes
revealing to our sleepy gaze
      half-hidden still
      under heavy lids  
   the beauty of the earth
   an awesome universe
and make us vaguely wonder
   about the mysteries of our lives

                     * *

there once was a president of states
who could not endure in debates
he insulted opponents
with verbal components
that were worse than what‘s outside the gates

when fake news
is the only news available

how do you know
what's really going on?!?

I have you
you have me
always will be part of thee

if you want me
I am thine
wake you mornings
rise & shine

shine and rise
and take me all
summer winter
spring & fall

have me
upside down & straight
I’m the lure
you are the bait

have me
down in bed & up
have me
in your chocolate cup

in your drawers
in your chest
everywhere
I’m in your nest

in your PC
in your tea
always will be part of thee

having me
means that I am there
where you are
don’t matter where

never leave you
always stay
no more sadness
always gay

have me

       * *

decisive words
   take their time

they reveal their significance
   like buds unfolding
   nourished by the soil of doubt
   the rain of memory and meditation
gradually to the troubled soul

until the flower
   of loss

   suddenly
   in full bloom

makes you tremble
at its pristine
    relentless
    beauty

      * *

love's pain
   is not
a topic I embrace
or would write fervently
about

yet to ignore it
   hurts
as I have learned
more than to speak

and also
  it might mean
that I love
not

     * *

sie wurde
zum alltagsgegenstand
geliebt und gehaßt
zeichen schlechter zeiten
und beschränkungen

von manchen
    gleichmütig angenommen
    als neues mode accessoir
für andere
     ein bedrohliches symbol
     für vorschriften von oben
für viele
     nur ein notwendiges übel
    das wieder verschwinden wird

wir müssen sicherlich
unsere reflexe
beim anblick maskierter personen
überdenken

   zumindest in unseren breiten
   waren masken meist kennzeichen
   von banditen und räubern

nun tragen sie die guten
und die bösen nicht
aber … wie sicher können wir sein?

es ist eine ernste herausforderung
aus den bewegungen der augenbrauen zu ermessen
ob du einem freund begegnest

oder nicht

different from TV
the shapes of waves and fire
never repeat themselves

when your president
     old friend of yours
pardons you even before
you are legally sentenced
for assorted crimes

what do you call that?