Saturday, December 31, 2011

It's all about meat and milk, he says

It’s always as if something gets pressed through a sieve
In a huge silo and then drips into an old and cranky lunar lander

And all we can do is rumbling about small and big steps
Of those who pretend they can build castles in space

Or underwater claiming insistently they have the key
To the hatch in the roof, well not exactly to the hatch

But to the ladder to the hatch, which belongs to a brother
Of the farmer with the sieve in some country's hinterland

And I go for coffee with this farmer who only drinks tea
And ask him whether he ever takes a day off, at least

His cattle should have Sunday from time to time, to find a moment
Of joy in this world's beautiful nature, meadows and fields

Surrounding their place of production, milk, milk, milk
It’s all about meat and milk, he says, never mind the meadows

While he stirs in his tea with opaque eyes that always
Have a water film on surface but never cry because

He was raised that way as we were all in the one or the other
Time when we could still look at the moon with awe

Wondering why she grows and shrinks and in which direction
She encircles the world coming up from behind in pitch-black nights

While we were chauffeured in cars by fathers from places to places
Gazing at the sky pretending to count stars but actually already then

Despising it all, the smoke of cigarettes blown into our minds and the urging
Questions again and again being unheard because we were told

We were too small to speak up so we learned to be patient with sucking injustices
Contemporaneously blown away by the heroic doctrine to never give up

Breathing, breathe, breathe, take a deep breath and when you've inhaled
Long enough you will see everything turns out alright only that it doesn’t

On its own! Until one day we are sick of inhaling and stop breathing
Because it’s time for us to stop. Next thing we know is we find ourselves

Next to cattle
On the moon.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

One ocean


We believe in a moon
that tightens the ocean
but not in souls 
tightening dreams
of other souls dreaming.
Is not there only one 
fabric of dreams
entwined in the world’s one 
and only ocean?

fish ate it

fish is hooked
on the boulter
of poetry

angler threw it.
fish ate it.
whose fault?

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Feeling alpine

Sometimes it is silence
that makes a valley dense.
Time to climb on top and scream!

this heart will sustain


beware! the journey is long
and cluttered 
with fear and illusion
comfort yourself in the strength of time
that carries your line 
all along to eternity
among every thread
of those who were and those to come
I might be always wrong
but this I know for sure
all one needs is trust and a beating heart
that is pure and does not part 
but suffers the pain, keeps burning
despite all yearning when rain 
pours on fire of sacrificed desire
this heart sustains its burning beat
against each and every arising steep
keeps walking, it must!

awakened again


forget the speedy train
there is no need to run
take the tram
watch landscapes passing by
can you see them walk?
can you hear them talk?
listen to the sky
where birds ascend
awakened again by a rising sun
circling around towers
aware of tired hours
resting now and then
do they wonder why

with calm continuity


walk a bit slower
supported by a shoulder
stoic smoke dissolves
and thwarting silence stirs
forgotten melodies
carrying a tune 
of serenity and peace

can you walk
to those precincts sans order
with calm continuity
countenance in chaos
bearing a glaring
that holds in its core
every future
no promises, yet
contingency 
in creation and absurdity

if you break


don’t tell me you can’t carry
any more!
pillar of brilliance
if you break all deludes
in shallow resilience
mystifying those
deceived by crocks of gold

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

burden

burden
 one carries
  is grave
   when each and every step
    buries itself
     deep in phantom pain
      leaving severe cracks
       in amputated bones
        fragile
         from leaping splintered tracks
          devoid of limbs and lungs
           consuming those 
            whose nerves grow 
             beyond the bounds of bodies


there is only this valley but one can
choose a slightly different direction
and listen to rain
it washes faces and dilutes some pain

tiny cracks in ice

when light shies away
dreams cannot be
beautiful on the edge
flickering
between flame and perfect darkness
remembering all promises
tiny cracks in ice
time to ashes
future to past
vows to memory


A fish falls


A fish falls into a trolley
His heart is grave
The fisherman
Cannot carry him 
Home
Slowly he trudges
Through the soup
Waiting to slip
Into airy pockets



trim of meander


time pervades all
even water 
in a trim of meander
I drew 
in between numbers
when school was 
still life

on the edge


shadows claim grounds
breathing into air
what never wilts

darkness
on the edge of light

some dreams sleep
beneath dreams
snowflakes under snow
drops on the ground of a lake
the very last to melt and dry
never late



Monday, December 26, 2011

beautiful flare

where you want me to go
I wonder does it turn 
all light into ashes
beauty to darkness
on the edge of a flame
pending and fragile
where no one remains
flickering
beautiful flare
every touch perishes
restrain!



She washed them


She washed them
Those dresses she burned
Hoping to cool them
In the lake near her house

When she looked
At all their sodden darkness
She saw my cold face
Within reflection

She reached out and broke
Through the lake's surface
Swallowing hands

She buried her feet in sand
Threw her head under water
And saw through my mouth
Creatures passing by

They looked her in the eye
Not shying away nor pretending
They seemed beyond anything
She understands

One of them kissed her
She fell apart
Into floating gravel
Leaving all shadows on land

Now she must dive 
Among us in rivers
Streams of an ocean 
Nurturing mouths of shadows on land


Sunday, December 25, 2011

Its beauty grows from beneath


I lay myself before you
wherever you walk
do not mind
your footsteps leaving marks
all over me

Do you ever notice
a carpet’s threads 
changing direction
assuming a different 
pattern of glow?

It depends on your steps
this pattern I show
its beauty grows 
from beneath those routes
you dare to walk

Choose wisely is all I ask
dampening rocks
bridging rivers
I foresee your steps
but choice lies within
- only you know -

gleich viel

sehen gleich viel abgekämpfter aus
diese zugeklappten
weihnachtsbudendeckel beim spaziergang
nachmittags
um halb drei am heiligen abend

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Weight of all hearts


Weight of all hearts
wrapped in stormy hair
spinning over lodestones

How many stones to bury a lake?
flooding fields under my nails

How many songs does a bird sing?
with no land to land on
before throwing herself in water
How long will she swim?

How many days will we believe?
in sunset and talk
about sunrise
before we march

Is it light that forms the core
of my lake’s darkness
or is it darkness that beats
            light within my core?

When we get lost
are paths too entangled
           or is it lack of ray density?

Is it your dreams
is it my needle
I feel 
without sight
                            I’m spinning, airborne!

           How could you dare
           write about snowflakes,
          and make me read glaciers?
Don’t! 
          melt them to words

Is there just this song
                                 and did you know
its melody before 
            tones conquered a heart?

Where is it heading
and why am I freezing
              trapped in a desert
under three suns
touching my skin?

I’m sleeping on dry sand
no ribbon
to tame my long hair
                      wrapped around fingers
                     digging out rocks
to find buried rivers
                               beneath
        dried out lands

Tide within heartbeats
I know
you know I know
       
earth does not spin 
                 like a bottel!


Leaves


I wonder whether leaves
Turn from green to autumn
When wine drops
Into cells
That have only known water
And I wonder 
Was there always autumn 
In them or did they lose
Spring

Thursday, December 22, 2011


Idon’tknowwhybutforsomereasonIjustdon'tlikeSanta!

Santa


Fucking hell it’s so dark outside!!
Even angels wouldn’t mind fire!
Who told clouds to hide all light?
Probably Santa, this big fat occupier!

Partikel im Flow~ ow


3D animierte
partikel im flow ~ ow
klebstoffsüchtige untertassen
-                  don’t fix it if it’s not broken!
ich schnüffel am lamettagift
        lass kinder zweige schmücken.
                                             der chor übertönt
die nachtmusik hinten im letzten gang
         kniet einer, der zu itunes wiegt
    in weihrauchgedanken
beschwert sind alle lider.



I talk to you. I have a voice.
I had a voice but you wouldn’t listen.
I have a voice only when you listen?
Is not to be heard the same as
remaining in silence?

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

earth swallows all

the tears, the pain
the lightening, the rain
the bloodstreams of souls
wrenched and leaked out
driveling jaws with sapful lips
relishing mouths
smiling
at bale and wonder

earth swallows all

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

the cord


cut the cord in darkest shade
with sanded shear
draped around your sisters’ heads
bury it secretly 
within hollow roots

grow and blossom

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Combustion heart sequence machine


Is‘ mein Hirn zu groß fürs Herz, mein Herz zu groß fürs Hirn?
Das Hirn macht meistens Terz, das Herz fängt an zu flirr’n.
There is always excessive surplus steam!
I need a combustion heart sequence machine!



Sunday, December 11, 2011

Isn't there always a serious soul behind the most hilarious humorist? Otherwise it most likely is nothing but a calvish comedian.

Thursday, December 08, 2011

I did not expect


when I put my funnel
underneath your roof
to catch some drops of water
I did not expect
a rainstorm to come
and appease my thirst
stretching the funnel
till it almost burst
it is too strong to burst
but it brims over

but when

indifference of time
towards injustice
that justice could turn
into difference
not today
but when

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

Doesn't make it easier

Knowing
about humans’ capability
of infinite self-deception
doesn’t make it easier
for the critical mind,
on the contrary,
it makes it harder
to seek and find.

fathoming

fathoming
is having a meal that grows while
eating it

The gap

Replacing the voice
the echo forced its reverberation
to overturn a pitch
and burst the timbre
turning overamplified sensation
into silent resonance
tensely fulminating
the gap
between lightning and thunder.

almost forgot

when was the last time
I picked up apples
long ago
almost forgot
they do not drop
into baskets

pieces

every night
when nobody watches
the moon explodes into pieces
surrounding earth
firmly sticking together so
nobody takes notice

Tuesday, December 06, 2011

In a frozen jungle


Breathe into thin air and draw a circle
around the good and the bad
colours that mingle
into flakes of white snow

I heard of fairy tales in a frozen jungle
where trees talk
to each other about birds

They ascend and disappear
carry feeble birds with frozen wings
when it is too cold to sleep and sing

One tree fell into the middle
another lifted its roots
to go and find a black carpet
underneath which white snow
could be hidden from migrating birds

He never came back and
the tree in the middle
opened its trunk and closed it
when storms grew heavy

Monday, December 05, 2011

The substance of awe



The substance of awe emanating from machine-age-inspiring excellence is incomparable to 
the substance of awe emanating from sublimity of just one infinitesimal thought by a sensitive thinker.
The latter is of a completely different fabric, 
nonvolatile, adhesive and emphatically insistent to synaptic processes steering the mind.

Glad I don't own a smart phone. Otherwise I might never feel what it means to get lost.

Sunday, December 04, 2011

What tables must carry

It is always about stiff old men
This poetry of weeping willow
Wiping up suspended breath
Of villainous crime
Carried through by rope or pillow
Leaving out the ladies’ drapes
Not hanging on arms
Nor sliding on side
Breaking high heels
On family heads
Passing along dining room sets
Where windows reflect
What tables must carry
When still life art is put aside
To offer up pride of decoration


Counting breaths crawling through thresholds

It’s not easy to face him
faceless not reflected by mirror
always hiding underneath
skin that crumbles
in cold air and stretches in heat
like any skin a pretender
a dark man loving to climb trees
and jump off cliffs in the night
without knowing whether it is ground or sea
he will dash into.
In some nights he comes to my house
and sits on a metal chair
bringing it in from I don't know where
quiet and static behind the kitchen sill
watching cars in the street, passengers, 
streetlights reflected in rain 
dropping from window panes
while I try to sleep in the other room
counting breaths crawling through thresholds
longing to breathe into me 
what he sees but cannot tell
I am not sure 
whether I want to know
and hold my breath till it is morning.

Saturday, December 03, 2011


So viele schlaue Sprüche, alles schon gesagt, gab’s schon mal, wieder nix Neues, jaja, blabla, ermüdend, alles längst kartographiert. 

Friday, December 02, 2011

Adjusted

It’s restive and recalcitrant
Rebellious at times this spirit

Turning desire into passion
When clearing out what is true

Doesn’t assort any adjusted
Star spattered sky

Sealing crevices


I was here all the time
busy in my emptiness room
sealing crevices lest they augmented
while you were chafing your own way through
all my filling
I had stuffed into walls
making them stronger, dampening sounds
wailing out hopes
dreams and desires molding my mind.


As soon as I rest 
crevices grow 
ramifications I do not want
to come out of hiding.
Cracks could ease wounds 
of silken fingers digging through mold.


I keep myself busy
keep you afar, keep myself inside
stiffening walls
repeat myself, head on my hand
repeat myself, hand on my head
not daring to break what wrenches shoulders
and sprains my chest in unbearable pain
since I forget
breathing
in mediocrity and indifference.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Will they dry up

When they come closer will they unlace
ancient tongues, will vessels remain
spreading through bodies
what damp spreads through tissue
or will they dry up what moisture contains
comforting fires no one should follow
abiding to virtues that make them the same
among many others who cannot unfollow
grey dried up candles without any flame?

Heartbeat

What if this one cannot be drawn
and she can only draw from within
heartbeat that ticks a little bit sideways
and only sideways the tick finds her hymn

Melody turning grey into colour
colour so easily turned into grey
when it is alloyed with heartbeat of others
not leaving hearts beat their own way

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

heartbeat.
is all that counts.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

till their vapors dissolved


world has been always
fuzzy, hazy, a bit shaky, maybe
when I was a very small child
when I knew my grandfather’s garden
as the entire world
where I could sit between flowers
braiding wreaths
in a stillness of hours
a bee’s sting
couldn’t shake a ground
just raise a tear
that made the flowers blossom
and saturated leaves
till their vapors dissolved into a sky
that led their way to your ground
and made them appear in your eye
how could I care more?

earth surrenders


earth surrenders to
surrounding silent solitude
vacuum
shaping from emptiness
its inner ground of being

words

in some nights
nerves are tense
and all well meant
words
illuminate a path
to misunderstanding

HEADTANGLE
- no one said it was easy to unlearn.


Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Weavers within


It’s all entangled in metaphors
a fabric
that robes and hems our thinking,
concreteness hidden
beneath and within
the veil that ties truth into time
and keeps us aloof from
a world wrought by weavers
working in us and working us in


Friday, November 18, 2011

While you walk

Just a little gesture, one word, a blink of the eye
a hand on the shoulder
while you walk down the path
that lies so heavily before your body, always
dragging forward all you have
into grounds fractured within your shadow
which will never be even
no matter how much you try
to step over the chinks in your armour
they cannot be fixed

One little gesture
turns unopened letters 
piling up
in your mind
to harmless staples of lacerable paper
and day lightens its shade
in crystal clear mirth
brimming over 
the cup in your hands

They so firmly hold onto
its handle, they know
the only stroke they have

Thursday, November 17, 2011

All your beauty

To save you from rain beats
I took the umbrella
In an instance its shadow
Beclouded your beauty
In a way a cloud could never have.

All your beauty dried up and I
Could see your ashes
Poured into soil
Making clouds burst
In a way my eyes could never have.

To see what is not there


This tiny spot
In the middle of my forehead
It makes me shy
Sometimes I feel
It is your touch
Placing this eye
To see what is not there
I wonder why

The door ajar

In the eyes of doubtfulness
he prevails, it is his house.
I follow Orpheus’ path, without hesitation
into first beauty-full morning light.

The door ajar
leaving behind nobleness
of heart hero(in)es, childhood
dreams I never remembered laying out
a trail to find their burning hearts
over seven hills that one day grew
larger than mountains.

In the midst of a forest 
hides a tiny kingdom’s ginger house.
Nightbirds ate the window frames
while I was asleep behind curtains 
parting me from chiming sounds 
of a vow
that has not yet been spoken.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Die Zusammensetzung der Teile

Und dann fühlte sich
die Luft im Raum ganz anders an.
Alles wie zuvor,
nur die Zusammensetzung der Teile
brachte ein neues Geräusch,
das die Resonanz im Ohr
unhörbar verschob. Besuch,
den der Raum noch nicht kannte.               

Friday, November 11, 2011

II.II.OII



The funny thing about now is that it is now and only now and at the same time it is always.

I coughed and he died

I remember mother’s bird in a cage above my head
to the left of my cradle from an infant’s perspective.
He lived between sill and kitchen cupboard 
in one of four corners framing a table
four chairs and a bench. A downy green feather 
fell in my mouth. I coughed and he died
I remember him singing. A high cracking voice.
He could speak only Tuesdays. Very dark eyes.
He bobbed his head while drinking water.
I began to forget when he left; for years.
I was younger than one, only asked once 
where he had gone. He flew away to live in the jungle.
Admiring his courage I took over his place
bobbing my head when drinking water
trying to sing with a bird's high-pitched voice
forgetting why. I never wondered why.
And I kept trying. One day I gave in
learnt how to fly. Now I remember.

Oasis always

Fountain fights fall
in streams across bridges
cutting dales
til storm-tost tents 
undershadow
the gleaming desert sun,
we sense a turning point
a clearing in the jungle,
an awe-inspiring tremble, 
where all that ends commenced
in bewilderment,
oasis, always.

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

Monday, November 07, 2011

your insight

met you between
party people, thinner, almost
didn’t notice, younger, a glazy stare
unrested me, the same
in my dream, years later i start 
to wonder about every step
by step since then
you’ve learnt to cope, channel, express
drugs couldn’t mute
your insight
creeps into me, recoils 
my energy, i learn to
take notice





Friday, November 04, 2011





Today I walked by the river
Autumn leaves were floating in its stream
They make room for frosty shades of winter
Coating all colors with snowflake’s icy gleam

Thursday, November 03, 2011

The tower




In the midst of an ocean stands a giant tower.
We anchor the boat.
Stairs wind around walls, we spiral fidgety.
No balustrade to cling to.
Passing black panes, I see a pirate’s eye.
Passing another, reflecting sunlight, your gleaming face.
Stairs behind us drop.
Breathlessly upwards we hustle.
From the apex we guess the world’s horizon.
It makes us wonder.
The only way off is to jump, 
tumble, dive into deep water.
Wind swirls up your hair.
I'm touched by sunlight's ray.
When it sets, we lose sight,
might fade away, spiraling
into deeper midst of a tightening tower.
Lost birds are waiting for us to come.
Do you remember?
They fell off the sky.


Wednesday, November 02, 2011



If we place ourselves
at the centre of our universe,
our thoughts get stuck
in circular motion.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Two drops of rain

I raised my face, two drops of rain
fell onto my head and softened my hair.
What had I come for? Why was I here?
Couldn’t remember, just one thing I knew:
disrobing my coat was what I had to do.

Friday, October 28, 2011

Aurora burnt a poem

This morning
aurora burnt a poem
into my window sill.
It spoke about home,
I listened half asleep.
My heart stood quiet, still.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

In all these subtle more intimate depths

Isn’t it
when ancient walls breathe 
unseeingly
a tree’s branch scratches a window pane’s glass
a bow resonates a violin’s well
a bird sings about his beloved one’s death
we might be out
shopping
picking up parcels
and overhear what barely exists
in all these subtle more intimate depths?

Mad hearts

if I ever
had wings, they would dive
in deep waters of turmoil
with only one stroke
they would stir up
mad hearts
beating 
tsunami frictions
of walls never grouted
and unsink lost castles
no sea could undrown

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Where sand turns to thorns

Heavy boots
Tie us to ground
Our wings want to fly
Can we walk along shores
Where sand turns to thorns
Scratching bare feet to blood
Till we raise and glide 
Into unfathomed sky
Can we?

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

The scent of warm hands

You've been missing for a decade now
I am thankful we shared two
The scent of warm hands
Around mine so small and cold
The leaves we raked when harvesting your gardens
The moon we guessed in stormy thundered nights
The silence in me when you hold me close
The smile in your eyes when I got into sight
One day you lost your memory
The other day your mind
Got confused and blind
And scared by its brutality
The next you lost your life
And all your warmth dissolved
In tears of my anxiety
Still carry them for you
Remembering we shared
Should we have been closer
Are we closer now

Monday, October 24, 2011

In the eyes of the deer

That night
The cup was the last cup
In a shelf of ebony
A deer on the rim
Someone put it there
I never wondered why
I poured in some water
Slowly to not wet its fur
I led the cup to my mouth
With my lips touching fine porcelain
As if they were kissing winter
The water turned to snow and I 
Melted in the eyes of the deer

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

The stars in decrescendo

12th October
Burning leaves are falling
Into worn out lands
Forsaken crowns and crosses
The stars in decrescendo
A mad man picks a stone
And throws it at the moon

I’m thinking about Persia
She lashes ancient poems
I’m thinking about Europa
She hustles off a cliff
What about America
She tortures obese bodies
I’m thinking about India
She chokes from corrupt breath
I’m thinking about Africa
Her children carry weapons
I’m thinking about Asia
Her children have no names
I turn towards South America
She burns down fairy lands
And island ark Australia
Turns rivers into sands

Once upon a time
There was a nameless child
Crossing many lands
In a woolen robe
One night it picked a stone
Aiming for the moon
It hit an old tree’s crown
And golden leaves were falling
Into small warm hands

Once upon a time
There was a nameless boy
Crossing many lands
On a silk paved road
One night he picked a stone
And built a golden temple
With his graceful hands

Once upon a time
There was a nameless man
In a promised land
With giant golden castles
One night he picked a stone
And shattered crystal towers
With his greedy hands

Once upon a time
There was a mad old man
In a hideous land
With burning trees and rivers
One night he picks a stone
And throws it at the moon
With his worn out hands
He hits an old tree’s crown
And burning leaves are falling
Into fading lands

Sunday, October 09, 2011

Unresting



It's unresting, isn't it?
Realizing we will die.
Suddenly we're in a hurry.


Friday, October 07, 2011



One can find it in the eyes of one's beholder.

Monday, October 03, 2011

Die Brücke

Eine grüne Linie gerinnt
hinter Lidern, die Stirn
kühlt an erkaltetem Glas

Ein Vakuum drückt ins Holz
Ein Schatten auf der Brücke
Eine Narbe in der Beuge
Nicht weiter wichtig

Zwei küssten sich
auf meinem Haar
Was davon ist übrig?

Der Wolf ruft mich
in den Wald, wilde Tiere!
sagt man, sind ausgestorben
An Hunde glaube ich nicht ...

Ich liege auf der Brücke
den Blick in die Sterne und wünschte
ich wünschte nicht

Sunday, October 02, 2011


Sand between toes.
Wind in the sails.
Sun in my hair.



Saturday, October 01, 2011



A girl walked to a well to fetch some fresh cool water.


Friday, September 30, 2011




Longing is from a different fabric
when it is torn between picture and frame
Without contingence to merge one another
One would be empty and One go insane

Thursday, September 29, 2011



A ring fell off my finger.
I thought I couldn’t live without it.
Little by little my hand starts to forget.