you sailed the seas
learned to survive
on water and on land

and when you met your Mary
you gladly put an end
to roving all the globe

and settled down
to toil the land
of ancient heritage

you always knew a story
you always had a smile

you also knew that life was hard
and never fair

you loved it anyway
and lived it fully
until the very last

Bon Voyage!

I think that we will meet again
at that Bass Corner of Eternity
   and have a blast!

               * *

to spend
the whole summer
with you
feels   unexpectedly
strange

leaving behind most
of my normal life
I have become
a thief

stealing precious time
with the one
I love

* *

a colorful river of words
flows out of the cave
towards an ocean
under azure sky

will it diffuse
in the blue
waves of the sea

or

stake out
in distinctive colors
a current of meaning

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;  
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:  
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek).

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,  
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;  
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;  
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;  
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;  
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;  
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,  
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:  
I’m martyr to a motion not my own;
What’s freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.  
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:  
(I measure time by how a body sways).

now and again
I tend my heart
leave facts and figures behind
and enter the realm of feeling
where
   like in a primal ocean
float beings about to become
   not easy to classify
   almost before words

somewhat like a school
   of amorphous translucent jellyfish
   good vibes float towards
   a loved one
predatory shapes speed by
   to attack unfriendlies
bright orange-blue flowers
shine in the wake
   of good food and company
a bright red coral reef
   hovers like a loving kiss
tumultuous slashing of the waves
   feels strong and overwhelming
   in blue-lit foamy white

I float back to the surface
and
looking at the sky
   whose blue is as deceptive
   as that of the waters
I wait for my heart
to tell me
which one
to trust

       * *

something can hit you
upset your life
destroy you daily routine
make you aware
of the fragility of life

and of the statistically proven fact
     rarely ackkowledged
that bad things may also happen to you
not only to others

love
is not a cake
with only so many pieces

it is a force
ever replenishing
bursting forth
from your innermost

it is what you
can give to others

and yet
your self is only
its temporary vessel

however much it may be based
   on individual biochemical reactions
love is the cosmic power
that holds together
our universe

it can
   lift you sky high
   flatten you against a wall
   take your breath away
   leave you wordless
   throw you
      into a dreadful abyss
   misle your senses
   make you talk gibberish now
   beautiful words then

it devastates you
   one moment
and give you unspeakable happiness
   right after

it makes you care
   for your progeny
   as well as for your elders
it makes you do strange things
   in daylight
   and in the dark
it makes you walk for miles
    to see the one

it makes you
   help a blind woman across a busy street
   throw money into a beggar’s cap
  donate to charity

it makes you burn with desire
   to share your utmost self
   with an other
   illuminating the few days of your life
   with the hope of eternal brilliance

it can do all that
because it is
   not a cake
   but an ever-replenishing force

yours
as long as you live

and the cosmos’
as long as it exists

when the heads of nations forget dignified tones
we are well on our way to that „clean“ war with drones

you see a video in which
the bad guys hold the floor,
   where helpless people die
a dime-a-dozen death

and you forget
it is just a magnetic tape or disk
has brought these figures
to their nameless destiny

the bad guys may be amiable actors
   privately

in your illusion's grip
these people really die
and you
   do nothing
for their lives, their souls

not even push
   the saving button
   on your remote control

              * *

I wander between many worlds
keep listening to different birds
most people are nice
when I need some advice
as I don‘t know most of their words

burning rain forests
wild animals with shrinking space to live
growing air pollution
smog in major cities
more than 3,5 million deaths
     due to respiratory diseases
global warming
new insects and other beasties
    in the formerly cooler regions
extreme hurricanes  rainstorms  heatwaves
excessive use of fertilizers by agro-industries
bees are dying
blossoms are left unpollinated
biodiversity is in a flat spin
deserts keep growing globally
fossile fuels are still polluting the air
curious dolphins die in the water of the Thames

after so far hundreds of thousands died of Covid-19
it is high time to see the larger picture
to comprehend interactive phenomena

the pandemic brought earth a little recovery time
the waters have cleared
you can actually see fish in the canals of Venice
satellite pictures show clear air over metropolises

suggesting: the new normality after the pandemic
must be significantly different from the old one

do we really need hundreds of thousands to die?
does it need a virus for us to understand

that we need a different relationship to nature?!!

nights are wonderful
softening all shapes
taking off daylight’s sharp glare
we walk into
   a fuzzy unknown
   full of possible suprises

nights are terrible
turning familiar shapes
into threatening demons

nights are sensuous
in beloved arms
never to end
cozy and warm
times to remember

nights are strange
we spend them
doing things
for which the day
has left
no space

reading
   a trivial book
establishing the illusion
   of control
   over our daily lives

   nights are
   the dream world
   where we act out
   what we not dare to live

   nights
   are the backstage
   of our souls

where we rehearse
the visions of our life

the cast changes
the plot
   or what we take for it
remains the same

   we muddle on
   in darkness

taking for granted that
daylight
will come again
and show us
that the dark is
just
the flip side of the coin

forever waiting
until
one bright sunny day
you embrace it and say
“Come with me!”

that afternoon
   when we arrived
   for coffee & cake
   at the Vienna TV-tower
   I saw a bundle
   on a stretcher
   right by the entrance

I did not tell you
   what I learned
   from the flustered manager
   who quickly ushered us around
   the ominous object

that the crumpled shape
   had jumped from
   the panorama terrace
   not so long before

I would not allow
   a stranger's death
   intrude upon
   our happiness

I had to keep back tears
when I discovered
that the plant
which I had nourished over years
      first in a ***
      then in the tiny frontyard garden
      where it had   after a while
      found its space amid the dominance
     of  honeysuckle & the bougainvilleas
had simply been cut off at the stem
by the guy I had paid to clip the hedge

     which he actually butchered to a degree
     that it looked like shrubs by the trenches of World War I
     devastated by artillery, grenades, and machine guns

I think I will not ask
for his services any more

have you ever been wondering
how death tastes
right now?

we know
     we will die one day
but we don't believe it

if the results of your negotiations
remain below the expectations
of your great leader

you better write your testament
say goodbye to your loved ones
and prepare for death
instantly or piecemeal
in one of those well known
penal colonies

whereto the great leader
relegates those enemies of the people
who fail to give himself
     and his good buddy Donald
the precious soundbites
they need to announce
over the global media

to demonstrate
their nuclear good will

how difficult it is
   in a particular moment
to find the words
   that can articulate
   the general in the specific
and vice versa

when sensibilities are tense
words easily can be received
quite differently
from what they actually
were meant to say

   hearts can be shaken
   feelings hurt

it may require weeks
to heal the wounds
a turn of phrase has cut

   sometimes unknown
   by s/he who spoke

and then
   if deeds are not available
more words are needed
   to undo the harm
   old ones have wreaked

explain
   define
      and modify

to keep the dialogue alive
that circumscribes
   forever undetermined & opaque
what is in us
and needs to be

said  

           * *

my love is like a glowing rose
that grows in an ebony chamber
forever there to stay alive
forever to remember

forever to remember there
how strong once burned a fire
defied the sun and blinded day
so high it dared aspire

some day a storm again
will blow through open doors
will stir the slumbering ember
and raise a flaming rose of love
that burns the ebony chamber

at times
we write out verses in a rush
    what we are feeling
believing this is poetry

we may do well to keep in our mind
how the grandfather of romantic poetry
defined his writing at the time

    powerful feelings
    recollected in tranquility

which means,
    in short
that just to let it all hang out

    is not poetic

only when given shape
by rhyme rhythm or meter

we recognize that personal experience
can be an image of much more

    an effort of how we admire
    the wish to articulate human desire

when your children
get killed by a lunatic
with a semiautomatic
in their school

and your president
flies in to meet the bereaved families
but in his fake condolence speech
does not mention even once
the words „gun control“

then it becomes very clear
whom you should vote for
in the next elections

congratulations on this special day

remembering the gain of freedom
from unjust monarchy
after hard struggles for democracy
and universal human rights

today we also need to be aware
of new dependencies and tyrannies
that have since come among us quietly
and with deceptive lures of easy lives and riches
of glamor  reputation  millions of virtual followers
& other such amenities in our age
try to persuade us that these are the only worthy goals in life

the most decisive loss of independence
is when we do no longer feel its absence
and happily embrace the bars of our golden cage

I weave a tender fabric
of many gentle threads

   if needed
you can pull it over you
and feel cozy

I am there for you
in times of bliss
despair  
or anger

to lean upon
also to hit
yell at or fight

I want you
wildly at times
rough   uncouth

and sometimes
wordless
only by soft touch

I need your smile
your laughter
shiny eyes
your tears
your counter-argument
your wisdom
your advice

my love of you
is always total
a force replenishing itself
from its core
not diminished
or impaired
by dark moments

it has no reason
needs no logic
nor explanation

you are
my love

if you don’t like the way things are
either change them
or change your attitude

some venerable cities
hide their soul
   behind endless accumulations
of steely glass facades
   reflecting anonymity

in Athens
all relics of the ancient times
that once helped shape the Western World
appear like foreign bodies
   in a sea of faceless concrete cubes

   most prominent
   Akropolis and Likavitos hill
   tourist-infested and forlorn

and it is only
when you meet the people
   and see them go
   about their businesses
that you perceive
tradition here
   is strong
and still lives on

to all my fellow poets who were kind
enough to read my verse with the somewhat
forbidding title “not about you”
like it despite of it and
     more than that
elected it as Daily

as well to those
who sent nice messages
and greetings

I send warm thanks

you made my day

a sunny one
opened bright patches of blue sky
between wet clouds
and brought me better morning news
than any of my papers could provide

Merci once more

one cannot help start wondering
about some leaders' meandering
rather than take decisive measures
they pander to their selfish pleasures
claiming they are in full control
and never mind the rising toll
of deaths, infections, unemployed
during the crisis
                              they avoid
acknowledgment of actual danger
instead fan hate, divisiveness and anger
ignore all human suffering
but only aim at buffering
their own political survival

it seems high time for the arrival
of real statesmen who can stall
that deadly downward spiral
and save their nations
     from being driven
full speed into the wall

and would I cry
were I to lose you
     yes

my light of many decades
dimmed beyond return
would make the world
a dreary place

filled with the shadows
of our dark imaginings
we‘d kept at bay
with our love and joy
and our laughter

without you
they would gather force
draw closer

     a pack of hungry wolves
     sensing a weakness in their prey

yes
I would cry
were I to lose you

when you grow up
in a world where old is not useless
but means connected
to other times that made yours possible

then the weathered beams
     of an old mountain farmer’s house
          lived in for generations
give you a feeling of security and continuity

the solid doors of venerable city buildings
     signal achievement, comfort, safety
     knowledge and culture
     brought to you across the centuries

the crumbling arches of old castles
      remind you of your country’s history
      some of it glorious  some not
      for better or worse

even your faded family photographs
      can make you wonder
      suggesting all the generations
      that passed so you can have
      that special feeling

no dreams tonight
though the moon does shine bright
yet clouds make it look
a little bit like a crook

they shroud its pale shine
misty rags do entwine
even hide the whole disc

then again with a whisp
a distorted appearance
suggests perseverance
     of the heavenly body

we love its continuity
amid life‘s ambiguities
welcome the now shiny round face
with a heartfelt embrace

Why do we crave so many things
though they leave us unsatisfied
and send us out again for ephemeral
seconds of vanishing gratification?

Is it an absence of essential qualities
that makes us feel unfinished?
Do we indeed believe that more is better,
restlessly chasing for the shiniest of all?

We seem to be obsessed with filling
all the empty spaces in our house of life
with things
barely a place left for ourselves
to comfortably lounge and contemplate
and
    maybe
find the missing elements
waiting
    to be found
    within
and not without

the United Nations
ever and again call to raise billions
to help countries devastated by war
or other mostly man-made catastrophes

I suggest we operate by the causality principle:

the countries who sell all those arms
    and military support to the warring parties
    or leave the natives no land to grow their own food
simply use the money gained from their sales and appropriations
to help the refugees they created
    build up all the cities their weapons destroyed
    provide a living for the farmers whose lands
         have been sold to agrobusinesses
    pay for the education of all the children
         unable to have schooling
    reconstruct the societies their greedy actions destroyed

sounds like a fair proposal

doesn‘t it??

all those people
do not know you

you do not
want to know them either

who wants to care
about strangers

unburdened by knowledge
or traditions of polite civility
some powermongers
     brazenly
demand attention of the media
force their way onto title pages
assuming that bland lies
     combined with contradictions
     and outrageous stupidities
     mostly echoing sycophantic TV news
will satisfy their followers
ensure their loyalty
and even guarantee
their reelection into higher office

     there is a tendency
     to underestimate ‘the people’

they usually take their time to watch
and talk  and reconsider
     after all
     one does not lightly
     throw away the expectations
     one has projected onto the preferred

then comes the point
when ruthless ignorance
      and greed for power
become too obvious
      too much

people no longer do approve

the powermonger tumbles from his throne
his reign remembered as a somber blob
in people’s history

involves little brain
just basic arithmetics
lots of gut feeling
and trained physical action

works for surviving
in the Hollywood Wild West

not recommended
for leaders of nations

it travels without trucks
builds quickly
and undoes itself
with ease

its walls are just
    my frames of thought
its bed
    the conscience of a day
    well lived
    with few regrets

its gourmet restaurant
mostly beckons somewhere
from across the street
where people meet
keep company
and eat
and share
and talk

warm for the season
clouds hanging to the ground
hiding the sun
making mid-day feel like dusk

such days may make some folks
forlorn and grey
and they prefer to stay indoors
secluded, warm, in cozy places
practicing various social graces

for me
the blurry silhouettes of familiar shapes
open the doors
to visions of a magic world

the old oak tree down by the grocery
looms huge, somewhat mysterious,
almost a bit uncanny
an ancient giant rising from his lair

the hedges in the garden
have grown into dark vanishing walls
the path between them leading
straight into misty white uncertainty

even my neighbor’s little dog
   appearing suddenly
looks like a werewolf’s tiny brother

I do not bother
nor do I take flight

I am befogged
yet I do recognize
abundant water in the air
enhances our view through ambiguity
makes us enrich our world with meanings
more fantastic
    and quite otherwise
than those when days are clear and bright

the poet is a fragile me
that longs to gain eternity
by power of the word

the greatest fear is that
no poet but a nerd
    who cuddles into words
    and there gets lost
is what is heard
    outside this world of letters
and at the most
can claim illusions
    that may better
    the understanding of a verse
    of all the meaning it conveys
    the sorrow pain concern and love

and then again
    as said above
what reaches out beyond
     the mind that spins these notions
     of love and other great emotions
may just appear
as nothing but a comma
    in the ocean
    of words around the globe

that’s what we poets fear

speaking
we give voice
to our lives
blend our voices
with millions of others

do we create a sound
in the universe?

do we get across
one single word
that signifies
happiness
    the terror of the soul
       a brilliant concept?

or is it just noise
we produce

stellar statics that
scholars in another world
spend their lives
to fill
with meaning?

             * *

among the tall slenderness
of poplars framing my view
the poised spire on the home
of the Sisters of the Holy Cross
looks tiny
in its striving heavenward

I do not know
that poplars think of God
   when they grow towards the sun
   and every year bring forth new leaves
   brave storm and droughts
   survive

I do not know if the nuns are much concerned
about their spire’s minor reach
their rules are as clear
   as their evening songs
   floating across the garden
   on moonlit winter evenings
their dedication is to care
   and heal some of the human suffering
   with love and prayer
or with magnetic resonance
   in more contemporary ways

the poplars grow
   and annually sprout new life

the nuns preserve
   the frailty of human bodies
   for after life

* *

during a starless, sleepness night
   when thoughts and feelings
   are confused yet strong
I hear
Corelli's measured, jubilating voices
praising God

and sense
a master's pride
   immodest
   in its musical perfection
   of transcendental adoration
reach out through centuries

the voice of human suffering
expectant of salvation
yet defiant
sounding victorious
even in its most humble moment
of timed defeat

the beauty of power
born of fragility

one of the Orient’s oldest
and most beautiful important cities
inhabited for thousands of years
by generations after generations
of craftsmen, merchants, artists, dynasties,
famous architects of all styles and religions,
the western end of the old silk road
home to over 2 million citizens
until not long ago

a few weeks of modern warfare
were enough to destroy
what hundreds of generations had built
for their living as well as their sense of beauty

     rockets exploded churches, temples, and mosques
     artillery pulverized ancient palaces and new houses

     barrel bombs and poison gas
     killed the people

on tv we now see acres of urban wasteland
miles of rubble with no life
except for occasional tanks and soldiers
proclaiming victory over these ruins
in the name of a dictator whose regime
has become a puppet in global power games
no matter what the cost in lives or things

     to destroy is easy
     building things up is hard work

     with friends like these
     who needs enemies

the sea
is a silken blanket
under slow-moving clouds

feisty cats pretend
   not to notice us
   enter the restaurant

   when dinner is served
   they assemble around us
   quiet but insistent

your eyes talk to me
our legs touch

I kiss your hand  
   and
when the candle is lit
   the waiter gone
distract you a little
   with a hidden caress
from enjoying your
hors d'oeuvre

        * *

the days fly by
busy with all those useful things
I do to make a living
of some sort

and all throughout
your presence in my thoughts
   wondering how you are
   whether your days go well
even though we do not talk
about it on the phone
as often at the time

always the feeling
of a saddening lack,
missing your voice,
your touch, your laughter
   even your grumblings
emails and sms’s help just
   to know that you are there

yet nothing lifts my heart
   and blows away
   that melancholy gauze
until we meet again
and I can hold you tight
and dance with you
   all through the night
into a brighter morning

             * *

monsters come in many shapes

some are cuddly
some truly terrible
   bad-blooded beasts
   and look it
others hide their monstrosity
   behind a cordial facade

the most dangerous kind
that makes you like them
only to discover
   at some crucial point in time
how monstrous they really are
how in cold blood
they do their monstrous deeds

and you forget
that monstrosity
   like madness
may be a different kind
of communication

             * *

much of my time
I spend apart from you

by necessity
     choice, or coincidence
I am not sure

we have our different obligations
which also   paradoxically
allow us freedom from each other

make us elated
when we are together
again

not only for Christians
ideas of coming back to life

    like older myths
    of fertility and rebirth

are infinitely attractive

impervious to experts
untouched by suffering immigrants and workers
heaping vile insults onto all opponents
remarkably ruthless in praising himself
at every inappropriate occasion

a man only in love with his own self
of whom many hope
he'd soon follow
the story of Narcissus
to its classical end

speeding southeasterly
   away from the metropolis
suburban shopping malls give way
   to fields of corn
chased by sunflowers between pine forests

the train pushing
with 100 miles per hour
against the heat
  of a summer noon
towards the mountains
hidden in a haze

then the ascent
on the old artful track
wheels screeching
at the narrow turns
between occasional small houses
built of stone
a hundredandfifty years ago

the silhouette of a big bird
   among the spruce
of cragged peaks
   outlined against the sun

steep mountain meadows
   mowed in morning coolness
the grass already turning into hay.

my birthplace coming up,
a renovated station,
a short stop,
   moving on -

I see
an uphill forest road
on whose high point
a wily stone
   thrown long ago with young ferocity
had killed a squirrel
   instantly


   none of my tears
   would make it jump again
and climb up on its tree

with gathering speed downhill,
on through the river valley
flanked by wooded hills,
spiked with farms
and cluttered haystacks,

rushing by
old steeples in old towns
with some new factories,
until a confluence of rivers
   another stop.


then turning southward
   downhill still
more narrow in the valley
past steep rocks
old castle ruins above sprawling freeways

until the hills recede
and cumulating houses
in a widening basin
suggest the temporary end
of traveling

surprised
   I step out

wondering how
to resume

(To be sung to the tune of Leonard Cohen´s
"Suzanne led me down the river")

at the buffet of the station
you are looking at the women
in your dreams they're always younger
and they don't have these hard lines
around their mouths

at the buffet of the station
where you chew your lukewarm hotdog
you are listening to the drunk bums
who abuse the red-mouthed women
whose hard lines are cracking open
for a twisted smile
now and then

at the buffet of the station
you are sipping your stale beer
and you're watching all the people
and you almost ask yourself
why you are there

and you smoke your final cigarette
at the buffet of the station
and you pay the shabby waitress
with the hungry eyes
and you stoop to take your briefcase
and return their empty smiles
and then you turn away

but you know when you come back
another train, another day
there will be the same fixation,
the same peoples, the same smiles
at the buffet of the station
as they always are

and you never can forget them
always hear their hollow laughter
always see the painted smiles
and you know that they are
part of what you are

now and then

              * *