The night wind awakes
autumn memories

from long gone years,

but the birds

that chatter in the gloom

only speak of the summer

that has come.

I choose the memories,
let them come like
high tide over sorrows.

24.05.2013

Past midnight, the birds have fallen silent

but the cars keep roaring through the night

singing about civilization and the

straight lines it draws through the land.

It goes on, that song of asphalt, as

the metal frames whisk flesh, bone and

blood from one place to another without

relieving them of the emptiness

and longing they carry in their minds.

A bird is happy where it is, perching on

a branch in the dark, a human being is restless

in her or his metal cage, going through the

radio stations in search of nostalgia and hope,

on that straight line drawn from one place

to another, from birth to death.

31.05.2013

 A Good Life

To live a good life is to forget death,

the end that comes to all that lives and all that is dear;

that all will be lost that can be lost

and that nothing once lost can ever be regained.

That tears are the truth and smiles are the deceit.

Life is a story of loss and in the end always a tragedy,

but to be happy we have to be innocent enough,
deluded enough to mistake it for a romance

or a heroic epic where the main character is left standing,

waving to the audience when the curtain falls.

Phase Transition

Death is not a mystery. It is.

Life is the great mystery, the aberration.

A rite of passage through existence.

At the end, we cease.

Dust is dust again.

23.05.2013

A long night

ending in rain,

a day spent sleeping

until the warm evening

spreads green

and a road has to be taken

if only so

that one can return.

19.05.2013

Ashes of the day

shadows on the ground.

Embers of the day

the purple clouds on the horizon.

Already, in the last light

of the evening the memories

of the day are fading,

slipping away.

Past takes

one more slice of our existence

as it's own.

 

16.05.2013

Marathon of Life

The days with their quick feet

running past us,

running past us

to some finishing line

we can't fathom,

we who shall quit the race

and will spent a last laboured moment

beside the road

watching the days with their

quick, quick feet

running from the past to the future

that no longer belongs to us.

12.05.2013

Life is all about pain,

the pain you carry

and the pain you are able to let go of,

the pain you cause to others,

the pain you acknowledge,

the pain you hide deep inside.

Life is all about pain

and how to live with it.

10.05.2013

Memories

Our past is a graveyard of the restless dead

living in our memories,

existing in moments carved into our consciousness;

the loved and lost demanding our attention,

our sorrow, our tears, our repentance

until death or blissful dementia brings release

from the weight of our life,

leaving ourselves phantoms in amber

in the minds of others.

09.05.2013

Matercula
 
I'm talking to you,

offering you the withered memories of better days,

the sharp memories of the last months

and the pain of current existence

as my gifts, my apology;

the rain of this dark evening,

the disappointments of this

descending life,

the squirrel running up the fir tree,

the blond cat sitting in the broken window

of the red garage,

the muddy paw prints of the dog

on the newspapers spread on the floor

of the entryway -

I offer all of these.

The gray clouds above are yours,

the water rushing in the stream are yours,

the dirty snow lingering here and there,

it's all yours,

all what my eyes can see,

all that my consciousness can admit,

it's all yours, it's all yours,

like the flickering flame

in your gravestone lamp.

05.05.2013

This May afternoon the Spring,
the late coming,

long-awaited Spring

is already old in the Sun's tired light,
in the whirling dust rising from the gravel

roads and fallow fields;
old even when no flowers yet

can be covered in that dust
that dances slowly, slowly

in the golden-hued light.

In the voice of yesteryear the day,
the landscape tell

of things ending,
not of rebirth.
Things pass away

and only dust remains,

inanimate matter toyed

with by wind and light.

03.05.2013

May morning

Birds sing songs

that shatter the ice

of night.

01.05.2013

May Morning, After Sleepless Night

Morning, sun bathing the treetops

with warm golden light. Thoughts

wander still on their nightly paths,

tired, frustrated even under the

bright blue sky. Frost on the

fields, gravel scrunching under

feet, birds singing. Only sleep can

bury the guilt-ridden memories

the night awoke, not this cold

morning of May, not this

light that falls upon the dead

grass of yesteryear. Better

the dusty air of silent rooms,

their shadows, better a long

sleep than this cold brightness

of an icy spring day that

should tell of life starting anew

but just resounds in lives

that ended.

01.05.2013 

Nocturne

Among the whispering trees,

the tall shadows piercing the night,

the memories of past awaken

and it feels that if you could

just take the correct step

you would step outside this

moment burdened by sadness

and the night would be

another night, decades in the past,

mistakes could be corrected

when you would make

your way to the lights

in the distance and

the people waiting you there,

the tall shadows of your past

that still whisper in your memories.

01.05.2013

Twenty years after

I remember the long, rainy nights

spend on listening to Jazz, Blues and Ambient

when the whole world up to the darkness

itself seemed to be alive -

all essence, all life

and myriad paths ran through it

to possible futures

all equally enchanting.

I would go outside to

feel the rain, to hear

it's sounds, the whisper

of the trees, the wind -

to catch the first hint of

a change of seasons, perhaps,

although it did not matter,

as all was one and I was

one with everything,

not disturbing, not

out of place, but just

like the rain passing through it

in my way to something greater.

01.05.2013