BEFORE SUNRISE

Morning, and

it's yet summer,

still, unwithered

green leaves waiting

for the first sunbeams

to touch them.

07.08.2026

A FEW GRAND SWEEPS OF A CELESTIAL BRUSH

Quarter to five

and suddenly,

morning,

a few grand

sweeps

of a celestial brush

the night's

black silhouettes

on blue silk paper

gone

for a landscape

painted in dawn hues.

07.08.2026

AS DIES THE SEASON

Late hour,

brief time

until midnight chimes,

the waning Moon

in the crown dies,

as dies the season

in grief entangled,

and the branches

its deathbed make.

10.11.2022-07.08.2026

SEPTEMBER POEM TO HER

Days of iced coffee,

days of activism,

the weight of this

time,

still looking good.

25.09.2025

JANUARY POEM TO HER 2

He would have 

her now

if she would be 

here now,

a vision rising 

from her gifts

made flesh

in her place

as there are words

that don't share

his impotence

of distance,

words entangling

with a vision.

15.01.-19.01.-07.08.2026

AS THEY DISAPPEAR

The night is dark,

the high tide of summer

long ebbed,

and I listen to the silence

and fill it with these words

echoing

in my own mind,

for that is what I do,

I fill moments

with words

as they disappear

taking the words

with them

and parts of myself

that lives

in that moment

and nowhere else.

07.08.2026

BUT WHEN OF OTHERS

A life betrayed,

promise unfullfilled

even if one's own

regret the waste,

but when of others,

regret not enough.

Nothing ever is.

30.09.2025

AUGUST POEM TO HER 2

Be humble, I say

to myself,

for if you have

words

she has

everything else,

the source

of them.

06.08.2026

BRIEFLY GLIMPSED

The day that teased blue

grows dim; grey clouds

hiding depths 

briefly glimpsed.

07.10.2025

BUT IN TRUTH

In his desire

he believes

he's a galloping centaur 

to her coy nymph,

but in truth Actaeon

to her Diana

any moment

she so wills.

06.08.2026

OCTOBER POEM TO HER

What would he give

to have those legs of hers

open and waiting,

her pussy wet and inviting,

her voice telling him

to go for it?

He would give, he would

give her his eager fingers

and his tongue to play with,

his manhood to fill

that sweet pussy

between her fair legs.

07.10.2025

JANUARY POEM TO HER 1

Step out of your photograph,

come as a vision turning flesh,

warm flesh whose wonders

I can devour through the dark

hours of the night until bleak

morning comes. Until then we

will play...

19.01.2026

AUGUST POEM TO HER 1

Poems that should 

have been posted

when written 

finally done so,

paltry efforts

written in desire

and hope

to pay back great gifts,

great support,

that have been

a light, a bonfire

in the darkness

of this world.

06.08.2026

FEBRUARY POEM TO HER 4

I was so delighted

of your response

when I first

gave little back

for your gifts,

your delicious

gifts

that make

me yearn always

I could show you

how hard

is my gratitude

you have aroused.

18.02.2026

FEBRUARY POEM TO HER 3

Seeing any image

of you I always think

"This is a woman

I want to have,

I want to make

scream for more

as we make love."

18.02.2026

FEBRUARY POEM TO HER 2

Come and lower
yourself
on what 

you have

brought up

and ride
it, giver
of words,
my muse.

18.02.2026

FEBRUARY POEM TO HER 1

What would he give

to have her in Eve's form

on his Adam's lap?

Come, sit on my lap

unburdened

by the world

and by clothes,

sit and ride 

on my lap

far, far away

beyond the burdens

of this world.

18.02.-06.08.2026

FEBRUARY POEM TO HER 5

Come, 

birthday girl,

and ride

my gift,

the gift 

to you

offered hard

by my loins.

21.02.2026

JUNE POEM TO HER

You look at the books

open, one on her thighs,

inviting to be read,

and you think of

picking the book up,

putting it aside,

and running your

fingers on her thighs,

reading her,

running your caressing

hands slowly upwards,

followed by kisses,

reading her,

opening her pages

with your touch.

04.06.-08.06.2026

JULY POEM TO HER 1

Going through your gifts,

gazing at them,

I get so horny,

standing hard,

wanting to pull you

on my cock,

your buttocks

in my hands,

my mouth

seeking your breasts.

01.07.2026

JULY POEM TO HER 2

He writes she looks delicious

but the time the words are down

delicious isn't enough,

it was a kindling twig

to start the high-leaping flames

and he the wood cracking.

02.07.2026

MARCH POEM TO HER

Out of his imagination

and her gifts

he invites her to step

to this hour of his

need, to drop

again that pen,

bending down

as he pulls down

her knickers

and enters

her pussy.

21.03.2026

APRIL POEM TO HER 9

Weather starts to be fine,

turning spring warm,

one could throw down

a blanket under the drifting

clouds and entangle

our beings lasting separation.

01.04.2026

APRIL POEM TO HER 8

Like a kid in a candy store

reading your letter

and like that kid

or Buridan's ass

incapable of choosing

standing drooling

imagining you

all around

I was thinking

of luscious visions

of you in acts

that would

titillate

my frivolous

longing

but now

I just hope

you get

back

the errand

wanderer

05.04.2026

APRIL POEM TO HER 7

What he would like

her to do?

Suddenly he is shy -

where did that come,

after all his verses?

Aside, this hesitant

spectre fiddling

with its belt,

his older self

wants her playing

with herself,

her pussy bare

in a video,

close and beautiful,

another of her teasing

with her panties on,

slowly bringing

them off, letting

him see what he dreams off,

while talking to him,

have her fuck herself

telling he wants him,

to be on her knees

on her floor

asking for his cock.

05.04.2026

APRIL POEM TO HER 6

Even watching

pussy willows

signs of spring

on barren fields

he thinks

of her pussy

words evoking

her beauty

his desire

05.04.2026

APRIL POEM TO HER 5

He thinks he

he would like her

to wear a loose skirt

and nothing

under it

so that he

could let his

hands to go

exploring

groping

her flesh

when lust

would rise

hard in longing

and when

the hands

have wandered

and found

enough

uplift her skirt

for his joyous

entrance

through her gates

05.04.2026

APRIL POEM TO HER 3

I'm horny, my muse,

and I have you
to thank for it,
I would like to
slap your bare ass,
push you over
a table and fuck 
just what you
and your delicious
pussy deserve.

09.04.2026

APRIL POEM TO HER 4

Gazing at your

eyes, your smile
I'm captivated,
aroused, 
wanting
to kiss you,
ferociously,
I want to feel
those lips
on my shaft,
your tongue
licking
my manhood,
sucking it,
taking it all.

09.04.2026

APRIL POEM TO HER 1

What I wouldn't give, my muse,
to be making love to you
just now, gripping your breasts
in my hands while
taking your hard from behind,
my cock in your adorable pussy
as we move as one.

09.04.2026

APRIL POEM TO HER 2

He thinks of that sweet

pussy of hers
and his shaft hard
longs for its embrace,
yearns to feel her
take him, take
all of him.

09.04.2026

IT'S STILL WATER, THOUGH

All my years

are like the muddy water

in the unfrozen puddles

incapable

of reflecting

the blue,

early summer sky.

26.05.-08.06.2026

A WHISPER IN THE SEASON OF WITHERING

To fade

with the wind,

with the fall,

if not blessing,

if not bliss,

a broken shard of serenity,

a whisper

became soul

fading

in the season

of withering

to winter dark.

06.08.2026

THE MIND HAS ITS THREADS ALL UNRAVELLED

Dawn, and I should

be cleaning up Yeats

in this spreading

light embracing

yet unwithered

beloved landscape,

finish Baile and Allinn

transplanted

on a meager soil,

but I have

not the mental strength,

the mind has its threads

all unravelled

across the hours

of the night.

06.08.2026

WHY SHOULD REST OF THE WORLD CARE?

The refugees of Bhutan

- whose very

existence is unknown to you,

Indo-Europeans

(for you ignore

and forget so easily

the rest of the world)

are worth more

to me

than your Ukraine

after these years

when you have shown

your contempt

towards those

whose suffering

is much older

than of your Ukraine.

You Indo-European

people of the West

you ignore the suffering

of people

who are not your

doppelgängers,

so why should

the rest of the world

care about your 

Ukraine?

06.08.2026

FOUL TASTE

The very word 'Ukraine'

tastes now foul

when that single

Indo-European country

gets more support

than all the long-oppressed,

suffering nations

on Earth receive,

because that single

Indo-European country

is situated in Europe,

is populated

by white Indo-European

Christians.

06.08.2026

FOR THE WORLD IS A MORTAL THING

The world is ending,

but then,

when wouldn't it be?

For the world

is a passing thing,

a mortal one,

dying,

and yet

a thing being born

with ease or struggle

that kills 

its mothers,

the people

who fought

to bring it

and will cease

with the world

that was and died.

06.08.2026

WHEN WALKING HOME THE PREVIOUS NIGHT

At midnight yesterday

mist upon fields

shroud over

passing summer

in my eyes

tired of this change

of seasons,

of years,

yearning

the finality

of time suspended

in eternal now.

06.08.2026

NONE WORTH WHATSOEVER

What have the words

achieved?

Nothing but

more words.

And in this

illiterate world,

where even an image

of a broken child

intestines pouring

out of their abdomen

is ignored

and the butcher of childhood

celebrated,

in this immoral world,

what worth

have words

going unread,

merely recording,

words after words

begetting words,

not change,

what worth such words?

26.08.2026

WHOOPING CRANES

In 1941, fifteen,

from the fifteen hundred

a century before,

living in freedom,

flying their long migration

across the changed lands

from their northern

nesting grounds,

untouched

when everything

else has been transformed.

Fifteen,

out of fifteen hundred,

heirs to three million years

of separate evolution,

three million years

migration

and then,

teetering on the brink

of extinction,

open both

the great wide

future

of millions upon

millions of years

and the long silence

of time given

geological form,

the long silence

that embraced

their dinosaur forbears.

Fifteen then,

and out of fifteen

eight and a half hundred

now, wings

soaring.

03.08.-05.08,2026

DELUSION

True life was a mirage,

or less so,

no illusion of the world,

even,

a mere phantom

of own delusion,

never more.

And what loss

and hurt

to others

from this personal delusion -

no choice

for them.

Truth was there,

obvious,

even acknowledgded,

briefly,

early on,

but the mind

preferred its delusion

when the world

offered no illusion.

03.08.2026

THE NIGHT CAME

In the ten minutes spend

inside the grocery store,

just before eleven,

the bright evening

turned into darkening night.

Almost Mediterranean,

this quick, abrupt change,

from clear twilight

to this soft gloom,

and so the change

in the mind that dwells

in the landscape

and adjusts,

a mere mirror,

to its surroundings,

going quiet,

becoming still.

02.08.2026

CEUTA

57 people dead at the outpost

of cruel Fortress Europa -

for this did we sell Western Sahara

to the tyrant king?

That tens of thousands of the desperate

would slip 'acciddentally'

through jailer Morocco's

baton-gripping fists

to enter our fenced haven?

Yes, for this. And now

we will come up with new horrors,

Europe Greyhair,

to please the worst in our morally

decaying bastions of Kultur.

Come the abandoned children

of other continents

whose future we robbed,

come and drown Europe

as we drown your siblings,

come, drown Europe,

and run us, the blind

architects of your generational

misery, through

or cast us at the closed gates

of some other immoral realm.

01.08.2026

BUT WITHOUT AN IMAGE THERE IS NOTHING

Eye receives the image,

sending it to the mind,

and the mind, intrigued,

constructs from 

its arousal a vision

that evokes the flesh

and the flesh,

ever the willing thrall

of the dominating mind,

responds, the vision

being all it cares

until it has gotten

its relief and the mind

exhausted its desire,

its imagination.

02.-29.07.2026

INACTION AFTER THE FLOOD

I took an anchor

from one rowing boat

adrift, driven

beside the broken pier,

and dropped it

in the shallow water,

something done,

but left the other boats

be as they were

half expecting

someone arriving

at any moment

when I would be pulling

them up a bit to the shore,

and they did came,

that someone,

and they did nothing

but took some photographs,

like I did.

28.07.2026

(MENTAL) LOCAL GEOGRAPHY

Just before I left

to my evening swim

the Sun came out

from behind clouds

and the ridge

beyond the valley

was all gold

seen from my

long shadows.

28.07.2026

A MYTH IS WHAT WE MAKE OF IT

A myth is what we make of it.

Leda is not bound

to spread her legs for a feathered

Zeus. She can take

a broken tree branch heftier

than anything the god

has between his webbed feet

and beat the divine

out of the avian,

leaving Helen unhatched,

Ilion unburned,

the restless dead heroes

lamenting other woes.

28.07.2026

AN EVENING SWIM IN LATE JULY

Swimming in the wine-dark

waters of the late summer

sunset, 

            cold darkling waters

of the lake

touched by crimson,

at peace

in its embrace,

                         yet on the shore

tumble of half-sunken boats,

a broken pier

                       adrift

like this unmoored Earth.

28.07.2026

BEFORE LEAVING FOR AN EVENING SWIM

Again I leave

late my leaving

for a swim

and this evening

it will be colder

still,

the darkling

water of the lake,

after

the long rain

that fell through the night,

yet

water will be colder

in the depths of autumn

and nights darker,

and the mind

will find its solace

in the solitary gloom

and the flesh

in the water's embrace

will remember its oceanic past.

28.07.2026

AT THE CLOSE OF THE DAY

Solitary bird

whirling, crying

over the dark mirror

of the lake

at the close of the day,

summer ending.

28.7.2026

ADOLF ULRIK WERTMULLER'S(1751-1811) "LEDA AND THE SWAN"

Brown-haired Leda gazes at us

as the swan is already between her legs,

we have arrived at the middle of the intercourse

to witness begetting of divine offspring

and mortal bloodshed,

and are standing there, voyeurs,

unashamedly, and in her gaze

that locks into our eyes

there is no lust, perhaps

apology for us finding her

on a moment like this,

perhaps a plea only half-formed

for help. But we stand only

and watch, as in all the paintings,

like waiting our turn

with Leda or the swan.

18.07.2026

SEVENTEEN YEARS LATER

The way to break

the calendar's grip

on the mind

struck with long grief

is embracing

the greater sorrow

of the world,

the bodies broken

on the wheel

of indifference

bleeding on consciences,

letting the hours

carry you away

or to go

and walk,

make your peace

in the cemetery

and go and feel the waters

embracing remembering

echo of how it must

have felt

in the ocean

of her womb.

21.06.2026

ON THE SHORE

Waves come darkling blue

with crests of black

across the lake,

across the expanse,

of the darkening summer night,

driven by wind

whispering in the foliage

of the colder waves

that will come

relentlessly

across the long autumn.

27.07.2026