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

a balmy summer evening
on a countryside
dotted with villages

a man on his motor bike
100 hp between his thighs
a stretch of straight road
   rare in the these hills

he lets go

he can
he can do it
   tear early sleepers from their dreams
   make people flinch at their dinner tables
   plough through the fairytales for the little ones

he can
he can leave the noise behind
   together with the thoughts
   of his monotonous job
      security night man at the bank
      well paid, though
leave behind the memory
   of the diverted gaze of his wife
   who would gladly trade
   the 100 hp
   for one more room
   for their children

children

just in time
   he saw her
just in time

the girl carefully walking
   over the zebra stripes
with a mug of beer for her father
from the pub across the road

just in time

nothing spilled
   except a little beer
   under horrified eyes

children

another stretch of straight road

he can
he can do it
he can let go

he cannot resist

last night I went
to a movie rated ***
as I had assumed
in its course I consumed
a remarkable amount
of visual ***

a rare accumulation
of buttocks and *******
and genitals and pimples
floated over the screen

   all the heaving and thumping
   looked like old-fashioned plumbing

   it was the least exciting thing
   I had ever seen

I wonder why

it is not that I'm shy

maybe it's the explicitly
commercialized felicity
as mentioned above
that reminds one so strong
of the things that belong
   to love

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

brought to life
before my will

the day I was born
is not
a memory of mine

for this
I have to go
to stories told by others

family and friends
communities
   of the first second
some until this day
unknown to me

they knew me
long before I saw them

how can I have lived
so long
without memories
of my beginning?

       * *

the decision
to celebrate my birthday
with you

a dinér a deux
with good cabernet

food for thoughts

one step
on the way to you
   and to myself

after long years
of almost obsessively
taking care
   of the world

       * *

When you have got
an elephant by the hind leg
and he is trying to run away

it's best to let him run

from the crevices of thought
have grown naked ribs of rocks
shaping into mountain cliffs
on whose peaks thick clouds are wrought

there I stand  shivering
   on drizzling heights
strain mine eyes to find some lights
so I see
     and not miss
steps that lead from the abyss

                  * *

you, father,
after your escape
   from Lemberg's deadly POW camps
on your long march through Poland
braved the terror of secretive days
and endless nights
and did not simply stop

you, mother,
were holding your own
   against death from above
alone with your mother

I thank you
for finding each other
   in a world half-dead from war
for following your youth
and not those old in mind
   of whom were many
who then could only see
   the end of crazy dreams

that you brought me to life
   without my will -
this willful act
   I gladly do forgive
as you have bravely shared
   in bearing the results

for, what I have become
    throughout the years
your love, your care,
   your wisdom,
   anger, disappointment,
   patience, and your grief
have shaped me as I am today,
   even though
   I did not always understand

from all of this have grown
   for me
      perhaps for you
belief in self
and trust in life

I thank you

         * *

the time we spend in doing things
we think are necessary
with hindsight may appear like idle play
wasting a precious part of the allotment
we have been given on this earth

the problem is we do not know

and so we take the risk and muddle on
trying to do our best
hoping it will not be our worst

there come the days
when frost falls on the soul
tells us to shore up prudently
against the times
of shorter days and darker nights

gather your sticks and bones
and keep them well
so they will burn
   with life and fire
and warm you in the evenings
until that moment when
    in flashing rainbows
you expire

                * *

we do so
without rationale

we feel
we cannot live
without the other

the cosmos will collapse
if s/he does not
reciprocate in kind

and in our hearts
a brilliant future blooms

whether it rains
or not
we do not mind

nor do we care
about wars' usual body counts
and the disastrous global news

when we love
we do so
in wild abandon

just for us

       * *

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

tonight the full moon
looks incredibly beautiful

making us aware of
how little we know
about our universe

time eagerly devours
   every moment
leaving behind
   a stench of indigestion

ice is in the air
it fills all space
and leaves
   nothing
untouched

the noncomittal voice
of an unfamiliar priest
bounces off
the hard air
   unheard

dark clad people
  white faces
frozen to the cemetery ground

someone
who has not yet
fully understood
softly
   defiantly
places a flaming bouqet
of red roses

my gaze
cuts through
the strange flowers
to the time
that was

like waterfalls
   words stream
   from lips

hours pass
in animated conversation
grammatically correct sentences
quite entertaining at times

behind
   the flood of words
important things
remain unsaid

how hard
   under earphones
   oozing Viennese waltzes
to accept
   your absence

suspended
   in blinding sunlight
some 37,000 feet
above the Atlantic

          * *

it has become
the daily accessory
hated and loved alike
sign of bad times
and limited mobility

by some
   equanimously accepted
   as yet another fashion piece
for others
   a threatening symbol
   of prescribed orders from above
for many
   just a necessary nuisance
    that will go away in time

we certainly need to change
our reflexes upon the sight
of persons masked

    before Corona
         at least in our latitudes
    masks were a sign of robbers and bandits

    now it’s the good guys who wear them
    the bad guys who don’t
    and … how can we be sure of that?

a real challenge to find out
just from the movement of the eyebrows
whether you face a friend
or not

fierce
   fierce
blows the wind
   across this island
   off the coast of Africa
  
sittting on the ***** of a volcano
I keep listening to the sound of things

street signs clatter to each other
empty beer cans roll noisily
   through midnight streets
doors keep slamming
   to make their presence known
plastic bags hiss airily
and fly away
   like they never thought
   they could

the ears
of the little dog that thinks
   I am his master
stand at odd angles
while he is grooming himself
   on my lap

warm bodies
in a blustery place

the patio chair
   scrapes its way
   across the tiles
   inch by windy inch

my wine slushes in the glass

I share fiesta music
   from half a mile a way
   coming to me
   in gusty fragments
and almost feel the rush
   of low clouds chasing each other
   under a star-studded sky

here I am
on the ***** of a volcano
listening to the sounds of the world

                  * *

as of a gentle loving breeze
     whose caress makes
     my body ache
  at other times you are the storm
  in which I plunge in wild delight
  and let myself be tossed
  around the world

  and then again
     I feel I am surrounded
     by warm playful waves
  gathering force slowly
     down the stream
     then bursting forth
     in one magnificent
          deafening roar

  amidst the forests of my life
  you are my lair
     of soft moss and leaves
     where I recline
     and live my dreams

  your are the mountain
  from whose top
     I look upon the deserts
     breathe blue skies

     follow the flight of birds
     into the sun

(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

              * *

The United States was founded
by the brightest people in the country -
and we haven't seen them since.

the day you left us
was the first day of spring
supposed to
   initiate new life
   signify cyclical energy
   blossoming flowers
   the greening of trees

you
   or your body
decided against it

I do not blame you
for this

I just wish
you had stayed on
a little longer

to answer
   all the questions
   I never took the time
  to ask

to tell my father
   that he is OK
   with all his idiosyncracies

to be assured
   that you have been
   a wonderful mother
   and wife
   even if we not always
   found the words
   to say so

to know
   that your husband
   and your sons
   loved you
   as much as you loved them

I wish

it is the night
lit by the moon  
    best if it’s full
that gives strange shadows to familiar things
when poets are supposedly inspired
to write about their pain   their love  
     often the same
important thoughts of life and death
their joys of the quotidian   and
that you catch the day
and live it like it were your last

    you never know
    just a split second
    and your life has turned into your past

benignly, though, the moonlight introduces softer thoughts
of passion and of the beloved
    distant in space but always close in mind
romantic moments lingering in afterthoughts

some times  I think  that if it were not for the distance
that always separates those who have pined
for their reunion
the world’s treasure of poetry might just be half
of what it is today

the same may well be true for all the lines
penned under tears about that unrequited love
addressed to those unwilling subjects of desire
who often  in the course of writing
turn into objects of the writers’ ire

the moonlight’s pristine shine
    in fact a mere reflection of the sun
for a few hours of the night
changes our vision
opens up doors to different worlds
    full of desire, hope, and desperation
allows us glimpses of ourselves
that daylight never shows

we feel we can speak words
under the pale light of the moon
or the dark corners of the night
that would not make much sense
under the brilliance of the sun

the quiet splendor of the moonlight’s grace
lets us experience that other space
we tend to close and keep apart
in our hasty tour of every day

that’s why
in our few calm moments
we all should listen to what they
    our poets
have to say about the night
the moon’s  strange light
and how it keeps their thoughts in flight

she takes care of you
and you are embarrassed
   because you want to be free

she pays for your studies
and you resent it
   because you want to be independent

when you are flat on your back
she flies in for the rescue
brings you home and nurses you
   back to life
and you hate her for it

because you know
you can make it on your own
   but will not do it
until
she sets you free

            * *

at times we feel the need
to catch a moment or a feeling
in our poetry

we start to write
until the feeling has abated
the moment turned into the past

when we then read the verse
it may well be that
though our need’s been sated
the lines don’t look like they would last

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 its plethora of riches

     no matter whether clowns or witches
     the sky  the stars the moon the sea
     and all the creatures there may be
     nature’s eternal universal charm
     the friendly dragon that means no harm
     fair maidens pining for their knights
     vampires haunting stormy nights
     fairies benign and leprechauns
     protecting all the loved ones

so that my lines be generally admired

alas, I still feel uninspired…

when presidents blow a gasket
the world goes to hell in a basket

holding you
in my arms

our bodies
straining
to jump
into each other’s skin

our hands
following
the contours
of strangely familiar shapes
exploring
caressing
tenderly

our eyes
   closed
have abdicated
   to other senses
shutting out reality

our lips
touching
gently
then hungry

our ears
listening inward
to body sounds
   beyond hearing
a symphony slowly swelling
   in the rhythm
   of our heartbeats
bursting
   into a sustained crescendo

feeling
us

     * *

in an age that brings instant gratification
by hitting a button or two
we are perplexed that good medication
cannot be found in a month or two

patience is waning  so is dedication
after a month or two
no matter what the explanation
we start throwing a tantrum or two

in spite of our expectation
of a miracle or two
our desire for vaccination
may have to wait
for a year or two

relearning to be patient in this situation
may give us a headache or two
when we surmise that salvation
will not come
by hitting a button or two

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

you walk into my mind
   like irresistibly you walked
   into my life
also at unexpected moments

I catch a glimpse of beauty
   and feel you touch my cheek

looking at the screen
   I see your face
   return to me
   a loving smile

you sit beside me
   in your longish yellow dress
   when I am in my car

and when I fall asleep
   or wake up drowsily
   your presence
   hardens my desire
   and makes me catch my breath

the thought of you!

If you step on my toes,
I kick your shin

you sense it grow
and rather would not
look at it too closely,
prefer that it remain
just vaguely powerful

until one day it crystallizes
into a sphere
   perfectly polished, brilliant,
but hard to bear alone

you start the search
for one who would be willing
and of worth to share
with you
what weighs you down
while it elates you,
   desperately,
at times

you learn that there are few
whom you would gladly have
   alleviate your burden
many just want to share
   the tiny part
you´d rather keep yourself

others already bear their lot
and, willing though,
could only join you
for a while

love can be a hard thing
in its time

And would it have been better, after all,
after these months full of suggestions
leading all ways to find the one
that would
perhaps
point to a chance
for change in stasis,
running the risk it be
revealed as but another dry oasis
adding to those we left behind?

Would it have been less painful
to postpone, again, the action,
have suffering continue as before
when it appears to have become a habit,
but does not seem, for that,
less of a pain that daily tears your heart?

How to improve the second-best solution,
feeling the best is out of reach for now?
How not to hurt the other,
driven to take the first step
out of tune
in the prevailing dance of possibilities
that threatens to go round and round again?

How to let temporary logic
rule over whispering love,
how to ignore my pain
that looks at me out of your eyes
in shock and disbelief?

How to explain
that I do love you even more, not less -
when your blank look cuts me
in half and lets me know that you
believe old fears have now come true?

So, would it have been better,
after all,
after the pain, the hard words
and the crying, the mutual reproaches,

to have left things unsaid, untouched
and stumbling as they were?

I do not know.

If it turn out
this change was for the worse
and not the better,
I will have learned
maybe you, too
and we can take our steps
into our futures
sadder and wiser
   for all the years
   spent separately
   together

          * *

avoid military service
due to a bone spur
for which there is no evidence

have managed to tell
an average of 16.5 lies per day
since elected into office

slander possible opponents
and everybody else who
has a different opinion

divide their country
at a time when unity
were most desirable

sets police on peaceful protesters
just so they can pose for a photo-op
before a church flaunting a bible

but only for self-aggrandizement
    
     no prayer
     no empathy
for those who suffer most
    the victims of racist violence
    the thousands of deaths from the pandemic
        caused by his delayed actions
    the 20 millions of unemployed

people there are who
are simply too incompetent
to lead a country

when death comes closer
it can make our bones
show prominently
under taut skin
revealing
harsh edges
where before flesh
was softening our countenance

what sharpens our face
blunts our senses

   is this a friendly face
   familiar
   or just the shadow
   of an anonymous nurse
   doing her duty

words spoken
become difficult to understand
and to reply
a major effort

the touch
of a caring hand
feels sweet
but to respond in kind
   is almost impossible

between relief of letting go
and fears of the raw loss
of our world
decades of living bear us down
a sense of systems closing quietly
prevails

you wonder whether
you will see again
the friendly face
that says
   it will be back
tomorrow

the pain you feel
howls out within
to be articulate

and haltingly
   you start
to carve its silhouette
on people's minds

knowing that nothing's gained
unless your pain
meets with itself
in others

our classic tales of war and victory
tell stories of substantial gains
in land, human resources, treasures,
from Homer, Cesar, Charles the Great,
to Ghengis Khan, Napoleon,
the Spanish, then the British empires, etc.

today, dictators are delighted over victories
whose gains are endless miles of rubble
      shown on television
devastated cities bombed into oblivion
     that will take decades to rebuild
     and populate again
hundreds of thousands people killed
     mostly women, children, and the elderly
     who could not flee in time

how can one who has been the source
of so much suffering and devastation
     harvesting bombed-out cities
     laced with corpses
claim victory?!

I wonder whether
     in my advanced maturity
I'm getting sappy -
    a sign of second childhood
    regression as progress … ?

when even cheesy happy ends
on late night television movies
almost bring tears to my eyes

or is it just
fulfillment on the screen
     of ancient human dreams
that we can live in harmony
     happy in peace
    instead of war

no bombs  no deadly rockets
no children lost to famine or to terror
no need to flee the rubble
     of what used to be your home

I guess I‘m getting sappy

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
it fied 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

shall I not grieve
to miss
your voice
your sight
the glint of mischief
   in a glance
   from half-closed loving eyes
your smile
   that lighted up my life
   more brilliantly than does
   the winter sun on snowy slopes
   outside the train
   taking me at this moment
   through the landscape of my youth
      and recently of our love
   to places where
      however much I'm looking
      for your face
   I know you will not be -

shall I not grieve?

no collusion
is an illusion
to sow confusion
against factual evidence

we need in life:
love from a few
respect from all

you work hard
   to do things right
and get kicked in the teeth
   ever so often
by people who cannot see
   beyond their pug-nosed selves

yet you continue
secretly hoping that
   somehow  sometime
someone will recognize
   your efforts

one day
   after yet another kick in the teeth
you decide you have had it

you do not stop trying

you just know
that you do

   not

   really

   need

their recognition

         * *

the tears I shed
drenched a cold spring ground
flooding the creek
that will
in time
feed waves
and take them
to you shores

salty and wild
and hard to mount
even by master surfers

the tears unshed
have built a lump of stone
lodged heavily
right in the middle of my chest

I breathe
it hurts
and makes me cry again
but will not roll away

the hill of Sisyphus rebuilt
close to my heart

you feel it
when you clutch your wrist
before you cut

remember

it's your only one

the little strong man
gives orders
to ****
    to cleanse
         to resist
he reminds
his frightened people
     of the glorious      
old
     victorious times
     and the soul of their nation

and when he is sure
     that no real news
     is shown on state-controlled TV
he broadcasts
     his rousing speeches and
     those heart-warming
patriotic
          movies
of another war
to elevate the fearful

he pretends
     not to be afraid
of laser-guided bombs
cruise missiles
stealth bombers
and unseen stratocruisers
that hit
   or almost hit
carefully selected military targets
and spare civilians

or so they say

the thought that one of my friends
   over there
might die
   as a non-selected target
because of this maniac
heats the blood in my veins
    clenches my fists
       chokes me
        with a wild
fierce
    ravenous
    cold
   ANGER

there is an ache

it cuts
at moments
through your heart

   strong as the wind
   that makes the desert move

it stays with you
for all your life
until you breathe your last

  and even then
it will not be enough