Tag Archives: Poem

The Obliteration

The Obliteration of the Golden Vase, the One we think we are.

The wise one who sat and watched toughts float by.

Only to realise that s/he is not alone in doing the Watching.

The sudden realisation of the meaning of “I”.

Starting to think of that whenever the word is mentioned.

Only one letter in a whole alphabet?

No wonder I feel stuck!

The Gratitude at being served this knowledge.

When I not long ago was believing something entirely different.

That the vase was alive.

That I had somehow to fill it.

Or at least show off some good flower(s).

When there is nothing to change at all.

Throwing that cherished vase into the wall though!

Will that really be necessary?

No need to!

It is already starting to look like a vase that only once


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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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The boulevards that are life


Without gazing further

than the next shop-window

walking down the street

along the boulevard that is life


Sobbing in restrooms

of cities without names

picking garments on sale

along the boulevards that are life


Hanging paper over holes

in the walls and

pounding on a nail for the hostage

driver of a hijacked bus

and the zebra crossings

are black and black only

and deep

between the boulevards that are life


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Lost and Found


As God puts on new shoes and

Wets the clouds between stations,

Taps my shoulder, does grey laces

I count lost property

Along a neverending road:

I lost that diary

I lost count

I lost touch.

Now, miles away from miles high

As God puts on new shoes

I count rocks and tap my sandals,

tapping the rhythm of no sound at all.


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Silver bullet


My friend saw a silver bullet,


fall from my skirt

and bounce,


and disappear.

It never even tore me apart.


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my sweet heart


do not rip

to reveal

a clue: You

I do not hate

my sweet heart


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No longer stuck


between lines

not knowing

what to say next

balancing life

and death

between what was and what is

between nothing and less

but still.


Yes, I tried

to hang up

a hundred times

but now I am

spinning slowly back into the hive –

white and pale, humming

along tunes

balancing on a line

and piruetting out

of a box –

to Nolongerstuck

between loves

between hate and love

between lost and hive

between lines.


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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


and infinity…


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A dead white dove


Bizarre silk-shimmering dream

to wake up and

reach out to turbulent

velvet-glowing happiness,

and paint a picture

upside down.


I don’t know anylonger


the spinning sunegg has got

a dead white dove

and a tree the same size



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