Tag Archives: idealist

Not a Question

She shows her self                                    To those who will listen

She talks                                                       To those who will see

Photo1114 Photo1115 Photo1118 Photo1123

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Rejoice!

Rejoice!

all of you

on the fringe of thought

you’re the skin of the bubble

about to burst

so rejoice!

all of you labelled mad

by the ‘sane’ ones

there is sanity

and insanity

finity

and infinity…

rejoice.

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Circling Cipher

 

Like an albatross I fly

iImitating his movements,

refusing to lay eggs

on snow or ice.

 

I will lay my eggs

where ashes lay thickly

amongst lush growths

on rocks at low tide.

 

And still they will be hit

by the Antarctic air

and ritualised threats, or else

under that of a volcano, in fear

of being boiled alive, they will

just like the golden lizard

sneak to rescue at the risk

of scorching feet

just like us trying to beat

the waves and build

the best nest.

 

And black lava moves

like classical music

over rocks

and high volcano peaks

force clouds to drop

rain to fertilise ashes.

 

And as iguanas are brought

the rare chance of a drink

we are provided with fires,

the fires that give life.

 

And as small fish clean big

penguins stand like gravestones

overlooking cold seas

and a reptile dies on hot rocks

to keep a young bird alive.

 

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In cubic air

 

An illusionist is enclosed

In a block of ice

In the middle of Times Square

For three days

Around him men sit

Throwing rugby balls

At each other’s heads.

 

I watch them from a distance

And have to deal with that

Writing is theft, and that

Also Dylan is a moralist

Without any escape.

 

One day I will drive

A motorcycle

Straight through them

Go nowhere

And for that year

Say nothing.

 

Severely wounded Sage

Can I bring you some hope?

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Painting

 

Gas station

blue light

one morning

of many.

 

Rain wet melancholy

in a get-out-of-the-way spot

the sound of a car horn moves

on by and defines itself, painting

movement with its’ increasing decreasing.

 

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The Devil Lived in a Doomed Mood

 

No body can strap body parts together as he can.

He is a reward-drawer who believes in smart-trams

and draws you spam-maps.

 

He fools you into straw-eating warts and when you scream

for more he is the one who brings you plate after plate of more

erecting with his left hand columns, castles.

 

He knits and stinks and peels sleep off you

when you need it the most. A pubic hair falls

off his finger and starts its fight with feathers.

 

He is a redivider, a petrifier and he speaks backwards.

But maybe one day we will see through and sum up:

 

The devil lived in a doomed mood

That we can do without. We fooled him

with sensuousnes(s) or stayed forever quiet.

Anger? ’tis safe never. Bar it! Use love

(or: Evoles ut ira breve nefas sit; regna

Which means more or less the same).

 

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