The time is for prose

The time is for prose I tell the mountains –

And gloomy in the distance they shrug

Their haughty shoulders. Moles have dug

Them into sieves and the sand is slipping through.

The time is for prose I tell the falling night –

Falling like a heartbeat it turns away

And sinks into the light of day.

The sun is blown out like a candle.

The time is for prose I tell the changing tree –

I’m losing my leaves, says-he

Losing them like rain on an autumn day.

It’s that damned wind blowing me apart.

So I turn to the wind and say

It is time for prose –

Its whisper carries over the mountains,

Through the night into another sun.

Soon the tree beside your window

Will rustle: it is time for prose.

Start a sonnet then write a villanelle

The echoe of your voice is like the sea in this shell.

I write then stop – the pen is as heavy as a stone,

“Start a sonnet then write a villanelle”.

The wind carried my body as one single cell,

As a dry feather, as light as a hollow bone.

The echo of your voice is like the sea in this shell.

Empty, I drift into a moonlight crater where dwell

The ghosts of astronaut dreams, and voices that moan

“Start a sonnet then write a villanelle”

But like the sound of a drop in the well,

All this writing – if only I had know

The echoe of your voice is like the sea in this shell

I tried the flute and the reading of poems. They fell

From my hands and cried in their whispering tone:

“Start a sonnet then write a villanelle”.

My soul left me for a farewell

And since then I hear alone

The echo of your voice, like the sea in this shell.

Start a sonnet then write a villanelle.  

Home and Hungry

A fallen angel spat out from the sky

I hit the edge of home as a paper airplane thrown too hard,

And pointing nose and wings towards the earth, I spun softly downwards

Into the dullness of everyday sleep. In jet-lagged trance, I amble dizzily

With no grip on my life and no grip on the time – the clocks seem to discard

Hours of my life without regret while I sit and stare into space.

Home is the only word that comes to mind and yet I wait for something more.

Home has never been enough for me, the greedy one, the forever unsatisfied.

I stretch out hands towards the ripe fruits, towards the river which laps the shore

And as Tantalus’ dream they dissolve when brushed by eager fingers

I tied my hands behind my back and chained my bare feet to the ground.

This is home. This is where I stay, this is where I am and who I am and who I should be.

But Hell is only desire, and hope for the fulfillment of something unsaid – and I am home.

Home is everything, I have everything and still I ask for more and cast away what I have

To show empty hands to those looking my way – I am always hungry for more.

Trapped under the transparent dome of my wanting,

Knowing fully well there is no response from outside, no Echo to follow my Narcissism,

Having been thrown back from a fairytale into the bleakness of my own city, calling

For the storm, and lying down to be trampled upon by the pouring rain, I yearn

For a few happy days – If I cannot hush this heart beating as loud as the tropical thunder,

Then it is asking for the wolves to tear it apart. 

Love letter

I lift eyes drowned in beer and hold your gaze

In my open palms. Guinness. The warm brown

Tea leaves I could never read, the maze

Of autumn poems dizzily floating down

The long cool drink into the parched throat -

The forbidden beverage. I look down into my glass.

“Give me your hand” and you gave it to me at last

But your eyes stared blankly ahead, far and remote.

I find their reflection in every eye I cross

And hunt all that vaguely resembles their shadow:

Ghosts of yours, pale rotting moss, brownish yellow –

I can only edge a finger over the line I cannot cross.

Afraid of losing everything in the rolling of a dice

I stand as still as the cliff, only looking from afar

And turning towards strangers for what little vice

I need for satisfaction. I roll down the window of the car

On the edge of the cliff as the waves crash down below,

And look at the sky for your passing shadow.

The clouds, the line I can never cross

The savage ocean, the foams which spurt and toss

Screaming the dreams of foreign nightmares –

A hundred goodbyes we never share – the time is much too late.

When will we see each other again – always a date

To walk side by side in sunny streets without holding hands

And lose our way among the milling bystanders.

As the cliffs crumbled into sands -

A century’s worth of waves in a single instant.

I never know when I will see you again –

Shreds of love letters ripped and crumpled

Nothing to be done - so be it. Amen.

Those waves devouring the beach below are dimpled

With the snowy pieces of  a thousand love letters.

A life of no broken bones but cracked hearts.

Cracked, cracked and leaking sanity -

As I hold you close my drunken child,

My lost bird, flying so dizzily,

Blindly brushing your soft feathers on my face

And me yearning to break those wings

To make you stay, stay in one place

Away from the pendulum which swings

And the earth relentlessly turning -

But they will tell me I told you so:

That you would not be the one to go

That I would be the one to fly away.

They threw your shadow into the limelight

And pointed to the line I must not cross

They point to the cliffs of your eyes so white,

The possible gain and and the more possible loss –

All I do is stare at those wings in your pupils

To fly away from time, those many angels

Looking out into the sea that shines

So I seize my crayon

And on the bar draw letters of wine -

Coffee eyes which were never mine

And in the depth of the beer filled prison

I drown to cross the line

And spill inspiration

No loose threads

A cloudy sun can become the moon

And a snowy summer change to winter.

So suddenly and much too soon

The coin flips from one face to another

And time tips from May to June.

Every loose thread must be tied,

And every word of silence said,

And every tear of regret cried

To leave without the dread

Of having been misunderstood.

I have walked the same rocky path as you,

Sister of heart and soul, and also lost my way

And those skies had never seemed so blue

And yet so dark every new day…

For time does not wait forever -

No button to replay

The endless questions with no answer.

Time can only wear away

The stones weighing in our hearts.

So let’s throw away the cross

We’ve carried in so much pain,

Free to live without the loss

And free to love without our brain.

Let’s treasure what is left of what we know,

For it will all change when we leave - 

A small death we celebrate although

There is no reason we should grieve –

Whatever happens, we will meet again.

Already the day has become dawn

And the night has vanished,

The cold days have all gone

With the times I used to cherish.

What to miss except what was before

And what to say except words of love.

We’ve picked each other up from the floor

Many times and climbed above

What we thought we could not climb.

Don’t miss what doesn’t come back

But make a flower of memory

In a crown until it becomes black.

Learn from it, until it crumbles slowly

And falls from your hair

So other flowers can grow boldly

And wave new perfumes in the air.

So cut all the strings and smile -

Pull out the loose threads, beloved sister,

You’ll see there is no stretch of time, or mile

That I can’t walk for us to be together.

Difficile

Dis quelque chose m’ont-ils dit, ne sois pas si amère,

J’ai ouvert la bouche mais je n’avais rien à dire.

J’ai fait un pas en avant qui n’était qu’un pas en arrière

Et ils essayaient vainement de me faire sourire.

Que s’est-il passé, m’ont-ils dit, parle nous -

Alors j’ai dit quelque mots pour le soulagement

De sentir qu’ils m’aimaient, ceux à qui je devais tout,

Mais c’était des mots bien vides de sens.

Puisque le passé se répète et que tout est fini

Et qu’en attendant une troisième renaissance

Ils ne trouveront dans les rares textes que j’écris,

Qu’un peu de dégoût, et de l’indifférence.

What we share

We half the morning and each take a square -

I take the blue sky and you snuggle close:

The warmth of the covers is yours of course,

The rest of the bed we like to share.

I want the cold draft from the window

To shake apart those shackles of sleep,

Break from the dreams where I’ve fallen too deep

And swim as flickering as minnows

We half it equally and share the morning -

Through half close eyes I take your breathing

As you’ve borrowed the voice from my throat.

Awake now you’ve taken it all away from me,

I only keep the morning in its cold and lonely -

So I get up wearily and put on my coat