IT'S STATESMANSHIP TO LEAVE YOUR MARK LIKE AN ASTEROID

The job of the politician,

we are told by the press,

is to be pragmatic

and to rise above

the demands of the populace

when those demands

are not pragmatic,

and this means in reality

not to do anything

that is progressive and popular,

not to act to stop a genocide

or to fight a pandemic effectively

or global warming

but to manage

each situation

so that nothing will be done

to stop them

and ensure

that they will go on

because the very rich

would be upset

and the very ignorant

but right as they are on the Right

would be upset

and we can't have that,

it's statesmanship

to protect genocidaires,

to steer the planet into needless death

on a planetary scale,

to leave your mark

in the geological strata

like an asteroid.

08.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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THE DAY IS OVER

The day is over, again,

and all that I planned

has gone undone,

for I sat before

my computer six

and a half hours ago

and have been posting

about the genocide

ever since,

with a little poetry

on the side,

and the sunny day

gave way

to a calm evening

and here I sit,

before the computer,

writing a little poetry

as the genocide

goes on.

08.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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THEY BETTER STOP DIGGING

France betrayed its promise,

Israel will hijack Madleen

before it arrives in Gaza,

and we are expected

just to ignore it all,

ignore the genocide,

because actually

ending the genocide,

ending the occupation,

ending the Apartheid

is not on the agenda

of our politicians,

just managing the conflict,

buying the Israeli regime

more and more time

until they hope

they can declare

that there's nothing else

to be done

but accept Greater Israel,

Palestine without Palestinians.

But they are wrong.

The grave they are digging

is for Israel,

and if they don't want to bury

their dear, beloved friend,

they better stop digging.

08.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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CARESSING WITH PHANTOM HANDS

He comes back to that image

of his muse

with crossed legs, white

shirt covering, 

and its promise

of what is hidden,

and the imagination

takes over from there

with boldness, caressing

with phantom hands

what his hands of flesh

long to touch.

11.11.2024-07.06.2025

NO SORROW NOW

He admits to himself

he is lucky 

          now,

                   beyond

lucky,

blessed,

               and fleeting

as the moment

may be, it

is,

     it is. What

morrow takes

away is no sorrow

                               now.

05.-07.06.2025

MY EYES GROW TIRED

My eyes

grow tired

of the light

of the screens;

sunshine

never

hurt them,

nor the gray

light

of short winter

days. This

abyss of humanity,

this Pandora's Box

opened,

this black hole,

does. Wretched,

we have all the horrors

cut on the bodies

of the innocent

on our screens.

03.-07.06.2025

AFTER THE WIND AND THE CLOUDS

Evening has serenity

the turbulent day lagged,

pale blue, dark green

it lies after the winds

and the clouds

and all the thoughts

they brought up

in the mind submerged

in the landscape,

now hollow peace.

07.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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WHITE BUTTERFLIES

White butterflies,

what else there is to chase

than white butterflies

all covering

                     you.

04.-07.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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FROM THE SILENT DARK OF THE TOMB THE SOUL FINDS ITS WAY

Captain of the Boat of a Million Years,

unceaseless wanderer, dead among the gods,

traversing the world beyond life,

bargaining with gods,

giving the answers that keep your soul safe

from the guardians at the gates,

no end for your voyage, for death

was the end, and in the timeless eternity

things exist in act of constant repetition,

you are casting a spell, creating yourself

anew like the rising Sun the day,

while your body lies in its silent dark.

07.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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NOT A SCULPTOR BUT A SCRIBE

If he would be Pygmalion

and Galatea would have stopped down

from her pedestal, he could hardly

be happier; for she is her own

artwork, and he doesn't sculpt,

only working into words her emanations.

05.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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COUNTING THE BUTTERFLIES

He imagines standing

beside her, counting the butterflies

with soft touches of his fingers,

lingering, and then counting

again, to be sure...

05.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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NATURE AND SCIENCE FEEDING IMAGINATION

The restless wind bends the leaf-heavy

branches, 

                 the clouds in white

come and go

across the pale blue,

and the golden disk

lost somewhere beyond them,

in the deep depths of space

blazing

             where another wind

                                              blows,

ceaseless,

to the rim of its realm.

The mind takes the sound

of one

           and leaps

to the latter,

rides it to the edge of the solar system

- that's the power

                            of imagination

fed by knowledge and nature.

07.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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SIX HUNDRED DAYS AND MORE

I watch a father carry his toddler son,

his dead toddler son,

                                  in Gaza today

after Israel bombed the home

of the Abu Sha'riah family

in the al-Sabra neighbourhood,

a little boy in an orange shirt

dead on his father's arms,

because all those people

in high places

                       who have

told us "Never Again!"

            again and again,

who have laid

                         and are still laying

wreathes on genocide memorials,

who quote Anne Frank

and Elie Wiesel,

                            they don't care,

haven't cared for twenty months,

for fifty-eight years,

for seventy-seven years,

those people in high places

talking about "Never Again!"

and seeing

                  nothing wrong

with little children

dead on their parents' arms

or dead beside their dead parents

in their dozens

                         each day,

six hundred days

                             and more.

07.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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BUT NOT NOW

Many sources have

fed and filled the cistern

whose waters are my being,

                             mixing.

Under the Sun it reflects

the deep blue, 

                         sparkling,

in the dusk it grows dark,

merging with the night.

In winter

its surface freezes.

So many sources

                             feed

it, yet soon

                   it will be empty,

cracked and empty,

and the Sun and the dusk

and the night will fill

its crumbling emptiness

                        with their being.

07.06.2025

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HORUS AND SETH RECONCILED

To his Muse

Horus and Seth

reconciled,

their struggle over,

the desert losing to the green

snake

          fed by the river,

it's great head meeting

the blue sea,

                     accepting

its loss,

             the castrated,

childless one,

                       god of the empty

places where the heart falters,

while the one-eyed

soars high,

                   entombed

in his millions

in the dark wombs of the dead

while gliding

                       over existence.

07.06.2025

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NOW COMES A GREATER WAVE

The clouds, briefly,

move

from before the Sun

and light

floods, a brief tide,

the landscape

where the wind

has rushed across

and back again and again

like waves.

                   Now comes

a greater wave,

breaking in gold.

07.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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CLAMING THE MEADOW

He thinks of her white, translucent

panties, how they would feel

to his touch

as he pulls them down,

gently,

sending the butterflies

off from the meadow

he is claiming.

05.06.2025

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THIS TIME

Her image rising up again

in his mind, he

                          rises up,

like this time

he could give it

to her.

05.06.2025

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IN DEBT

Give it to her,

if only in words,

give it to her

who have given

you so much,

so much.

Give it to her,

if only in images,

give it to her.

She has given

you so much,

give it to her.

05.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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WORTHY OF HER

Some might ask, crudely,

'Have you fucked her?'

and he can only answer

his truth: 

'I haven't made love

to her, except

in my verse,

but that was fierce loving

worthy of her.'

05.06.2025

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LET IMAGINATION DO ITS THING

Words have little permanence

over flesh, bones of a life

crumbling to dust, 

but let imagination

build a vision around them,

a fleeting one,

but with a spark

of the original

source contained.

05.06.2025

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WITH TREASURES

Clouds and rain,

                             this day,

but what does it matter

after yesterday,

what does it matter,

the soaked land 

outside?

None, for I have done

my long walk,

yesterday, 

                 returned

with treasures

to spend this day with,

warmed by an inner glow

of being appreciated.

05.06.2025

OUR LIFE IN THE MULTIVERSE

What we perceive as our life

is one small path

                             across time,

one of our existencies

spun from of a whole

dividing infinitely

at each moment;

we take all possible

                                 paths

and perceive but

                             this one.

07.06.2025

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TO THE MUSE OF THE PHOENIXES

Awakening, 

                    I'm in near constant

state of arousal, even

                                    the phoenixes

remind of her gifts,

                  her gifts my desirous

mind and hard

flesh long

                  to explore beyond gaze

and feverish thought.

05.06.2025

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ALIENS FROM THE STARS

Invaders like us

we can accept,

saviours we yearn

for, but passive

observers - if

they observe us

at all - who ignore

all our attempts

at communicate

we can't stand

for we want

a Deus Ex Machina

or Devils

from the stars

to fix or erase what

we have broken

and passively

leave to lie in ruins.

07.06.-10.08.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

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BETWEEN OLD AND NEW

Listening to the sound

of the wind rising,

falling, I drink my coffee

gathering myself

to edit raw poems

that have awaited two

days for me

to get back to them,

abandoned adolescents

restless in their attic room

calling for my attention

as I hear the wind,

the falling bombs,

the call for any survivors

under the rubble

coming from the video

running on the open screen,

my umbilical cord

to the world beyond

words and wind,

which tells me

of things I should write

instead, impressions

and body pieces

to etch in words,

as my restless adolescents

keep calling for attention.

07.06.2025

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THE EARLY JUNE WIND

The wind has made

the landscape

its own, everything

bends to its will,

the swaying trees,

the dark gathered clouds,

the human mind,

suspended between

it feels the wind

going through.

07.06.2025

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SEEKING WHITE BUTTERFLIES

The wind goes around swaying

the tree branches; almost

quietly, just a barely audible

hush as they sway in its embrace

under white clouds, and I gaze

around, seeking white

butterflies that might flutter

in the breeze, enticing.

04.06.2025

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TO GERMANY

You claim your guilt

over a genocide

eighty years ago

forces you now

to support an ongoing

genocide,

and you declare that

today's victims have no right

to defend themselves,

and you present yourself

to the world as an arbiter of morality,

a reformed genocidaire

who now knows

right from wrong

and must enforce it,

when you are,

now as then,

just a genocidaire,

just a genocidaire,

unchanged

these eighty years.

04.06.2025

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AS I COUNT TO TEN AND MORE

At one moment you are

back at translating Edward Thomas,

struggling with his frost-cold misery,

the next you are drawn

to counting butterflies

as an image rises in your mind,

driven by some impulse

beyond the shadow of an elm in moonlight,

your mind perhaps

seeking warmth among his visions

of solitary frigidity,

and his night gives way

to my bright summer day

as I count to ten

and more.

04.06.2025

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NOT THE SONG OF BIRDS

From the front door open

to an overcast summer, comes

not the songs of birds

but the distant hum of traffic, ceaseless,

from the highway; strange

how it comes like the waves

long-travelling encountering

the shores of seas, an ocean,

in my memory. When

you stand there,

at the crossroads, one

or two travels cast in moving metal

at the long stretch of asphalt

dissecting the valley

at the same time; rarely

more, as this is a time

of faning, yet,

here in the distance,

slice of standing woods

between my open front door,

my ears, my mind,

and the artery of this waning

civilization, this diminishing society,

and it hums like the waves

encountering a shore

in the Adriatic, in the Atlantic,

the Mediterranean,

or the blood still circling

in my veins, humming

to the tune of ancient seas

raised at mountain tops.

04.06.2025

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TRANSFIXED

At the end of the day

translating Edward Thomas,

but the mind

keeps wandering

in wild thoughts

off from his lines,

and the shepherds

sent after them get lost

as they do, 

                   transfixed

before her barely

veiled image.

01.06.2025

WHITE NIGHT

Almost midnight

on a brief

summer night,

solitary bird

singing

now and then

in the depths

of this white night

gone in less

than a dream.

01.06.2025

HE IMAGINES HER

He imagines her

beside him

as she is in her image,

how quick

would be his hands

removing what obscures,

how patient

caressing what he longs

for, and how

eager his mouth

in opening those thighs

with kisses

for him.

01.06.2025

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MEN BEING MEN

If she would be here

she would be getting

it tender, she

would be getting

it hard, or so

he claims -

but you all know men,

it might be over

in a few minutes,

men being men.

01.06.2025

Verse Poetry Poems Poem

SINCE THE BITING OF THE APPLE

Let the flesh tell the mind

what thoughts to think,

let it rest from the great questions

of life,

            the arts and the sciences,

the pondering of what was

before the Cosmos

and will be after it,

let the poems in foreign languages

for now stay untranslated,

the ones in own stay unwritten;

for the flesh tells the mind

to dream of her,

of having her,

her having him,

the old longings that since

the biting of the apple

have driven flesh to flesh.

01.06.2025

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IN THE COOL DUSK

In the cool dusk

the same feverish

lust that burned

me in the heat of the day

still flows

like magma

in my veins,

in my thoughts

that are filled by visions

of her in my embrace,

myself embedded

in her.

01.06.2025

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GENOCIDAIRES ARE NOT OUR FRIENDS

A state rejoicing in the murder of children

doesn't deserve our solidarity

which our leaders declare

while we watch broken infant forms

at our screens, these small bodies

whose passing our leaders merely deplore

while telling how great friends to us

their killers are.

01.06.2025

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HER ALLURING FRAME

If she would be with him

now, those panties and the bra

would not long cover her;

it would be his hands,

his hungry mouth,

his longing body covering

her alluring frame.

01.06.2025

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IN THE SUMMER DUSK

The golden day

gone, the short night

arrives in hues of blue;

the winds that blew

through the green

new leaves

calmed, the dark branches

are still in the pale dusk

and a solitary dog howls

into the silence left by birds.

01.06.2025

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