tranquility

a path a stone
music fading voices

floating signs that point out
the dedicated way

i climb across the wood
that forms the reiling

i take 12 steps
and breathe in

tranquility

~

- photo friday, challenge: purity

sometimes

sometimes the blue sky
is waiting in

the right lower corner
just beyond

the block of the
larger view

- photo friday, challenge: "large"

5 things are waiting to be done

5 things are waiting to be done. that was a riddle a friend sent in December. and the state i seem to be in since weeks. or rather: since years. looking at to-do lists from the past months, i see that those 5 things are changing, though. which must mean that i am moving forward, right?

and looking back, it usually aren't the ones that were on top of the list that made the difference in the end. sometimes i feel, somewhere in the back of my mind there is a little neutronic net that knows very well what to do next, and what to leave waiting. only that it doesn't communicate in rational reasons to my consciousness. it communicates in whims and moods of the moment, making me feel like following follies instead of priorities.

2 more thoughts on this, or rather, quotes:

the goal i have: to never be finished - nie fertig werden.
that's what someone quoted to me years ago in Cologne, a wish for her life.

the more you do, the more you can do.
a modern day koan, sent from a san fran friend.

~

and then this, stumbled upon in the web, just at the right time:

I will not die an unlived life.
I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise.

I choose to risk my significance, to live so that which came to me as seed goes on to the next as blossom, and so that which came to me as blossom goes on as fruit.

- Dawna Markova

alles lyrik

in between politics and finances
a whole feature of poetry
six pages long

starting with an editorial explanation
why this issue sees no other literal reviews
than lines in not even rhymes

adding, just in case of unknownness,
a cautious introduction into the nature of lyric:
poems aren't things, it states

poems are emotional states,
existing only while reading their lines,
neither before, nor after

ending with a soothing note
for all those who rather read novel size reviews:
those will appear in an extra-long-feature, next issue.

~

beyond instinctive rain

• dancer :: rain
• intellectual :: death
• direct :: call
• tolerate :: difference
• post :: modern
• instinctive :: move
• brink :: beyond
• regain :: shape
• repulsed :: impulse
• distressed :: dreaming

- unconscious mutterings, week 225

amber

amber is a colour
she learned on that rainy thursday morning
yet skipped looking for it
sure it would be far.

then found it
just an hour later
some metres from the doorstep
in the rain.

- photo friday, challenge: "amber"

road unplugged

film :: cannes
dragon :: bird
hunger :: fridge
plucked :: unplugged
dissolving :: into petals
executive :: board
mist :: may
minority :: butterflies
map :: road

- unconscious mutterings, week 223

about butterfly

about butterfly borders
contempt easter
first good garden

life living mine
photo pain peek
poem peace struggle

still travels time
unconscious trees
writer world write

writing your zeit

~

text: oil on copper zoom cloud 30.04.
photo: July 2006
dictionary peek: "zeit": german for "time"

cutback / backcut

cutback / backcut

a home can be
a rounded piece of wood
in a cut back tree

i undertand as i sit
with my teacher
in a garden

that dates back to the time
when gardens where cut in sizes
large enough

to provide food
for people, to give
shelter for birds,

to encompass
the circle
of life.

~~

Rückschnitt / Fortschritt

ein zurückgeschnitter Baum
kann Raum genug sein
für ein rundes Heim aus Holz

verstehe ich als ich dort sitze,
mit meiner Lehrerin
in einem Garten

der aus der Zeit stammt,
in der Gärtenstücke groß genug
geschnitten wurden

um Nahrung anzubauen,
um Unterschlupf zu finden

um den Kreis des Lebens
zu umschließen.

~~

photo: 11. April
poem: 12 /30

imprints 2

imprints 2

under the canopy
named oldest
a post of past April
forgotten yet stored
at the bottom of the blog

this house, the garden,
the street,
all covered in snow,
like dreaming
a winter dream

the only signs
someone was awake:
footprints in the snow,
leading to the door,
returning to wilderness.

not shoe prints,
but doe prints.

~

photo: April 2006, 10/30 or 1/3
poem: based on lines in a draft stored 03.04.06.
dictionary peek: canopy - a covering for an eminent person or a sacred object; an ornamental rooflike projection over a niche, altar, or tomb; a protective rooflike covering, often of canvas, mounted on a frame over a walkway or door; a high overarching covering, such as the sky; the uppermost layer in a forest, formed by the crowns of the trees; the transparent enclosure over the cockpit of an aircraft; the part of a parachute that opens up to catch the air.

swim

shallow water deep
like lost time like illusions
learn to breathe then swim

~~

automatic alternative

gaudy petal blazes
agelessly, agelessly
jackals play, does rush

~~

photo: in the middle of the city
poem: 9/30
automatic haikus: here

wordsouls

wordsouls

the book was sorted under c like cardenal
and had a mayan bird on its cover,
painted in coloured crayons

it dived into the metaphysics of language
right on its first page: the latin word carmen (song)
is derived from the sanskrit karma (holy ritual), it stated,

in a sentence so casual, so exciting. karma song,
i thought, my eyes lingering on a bird in the tree
who kept chanting, who speaks in notes, in verse

all his life.

~

photo: 25.3. - the return of the Rotschwanz, a migrating bird who prefers to spend the winter in Italy.
poem: sunday morning, 8/30
peek: wordsouls - "Wortseelen" is the name of the book mentioned: a collection of ethnic poems collected by Ernesto Cardenal, i came across it in the library.

east / west

east / west

for her, the sun rises
beyond the tree hill
23 minutes later

than forecasted on the weather page
which seems to be based on a flat world
of no memory

yesterday gone already
the moment the hands of time
reach midnight,

while the easter rabbit and his chickens
are born in shelves of super markets
that forgot about the real meaning

of things
and times

~~

photo: easter 1 year ago
poem: 7/30

imprinted bluegreen

imprinted bluegreen

in yards, evolution /
happens every hour...

(submitted)

~~

photo: 02.04., back yard
poem: based on a line on sculputers in a mail
dictionary peek: imprint - verb: to produce (a mark or pattern) on a surface by pressure: to impart a strong or vivid impression, to fix firmly, as in the mind; to modify (a gene) by chemical means. noun: a mark or pattern produced by imprinting; a distinguishing influence or effect; a publisher's name, often with the date, address, and edition.

Die Zeit Nr. 14

Die Zeit Nr. 14

on the cover of
the newspaper named
like the time

eine Zeit

the world from far
distance beyond
a particle born in space

eine Welt

and we here, giving
numbers to issues to days
fourteen five four this one

ein Jetzt

when will
our time
come?

~

photo: 02.04.07
poem: written at 11.23 GWM (Greenwich Mean Time, which isn't mean, but median), 5/30
dictionary peek: eine Zeit - a time, eine Welt - a world, ein Jetzt - a now

receding still

receding still

illusions drain light
within the mirror of self
sounds receding still

~

photo: good question. maybe last November, on the way to Lanzarote?
poem: draft since 13.2., based on an automatic haiku, redrafted today
dictionary peek: receding - to move back or away from a limit, point, or mark; to slope backward; to become or seem to become fainter or more distant; to withdraw or retreat.

learn the rules, so you know how to break them

learn the rules, so you know how to break them

birds marking invisible borders with songlines...

(submitted)

~

photo: 11. April 2006, exhibition "Square"
poem: 2nd of April, full moon
dictionary peek: contempt - the feeling or attitude of regarding someone or something as inferior, base, or worthless; the state of being despised or dishonored; disgrace; willful disobedience of the authority of a court of law or legislative body.

NaPoWriMo

It's April. And thus, NaPoWriMo. National Poetry Writing Month.
"Write a poem, every day, this month," the poems page said.
"Hmmm...," i said. "A poem? Would haikus, do, too? And sketches?"
"Write a poem a day, whatever that means to you," the page said, and added: "there really are no rules."
"So then," i answered.

invisible island

• san francisco :: windy
• sadness :: lonely
• spirits :: invisible
• harriet :: marriot
• state :: of consciousness
• offense :: defense
• timeless :: island
• account :: numbers
• refuse :: say no

- unconscious mutterings, week 215

Er-Leben

yoga classes are back again. starting with a calming and slow lesson. with more explanations, as there are some new ones in the group, as some had to leave as they moved to another place. and it was good, to hear the basics again. on the blackboard, two lines that can’t really be translated:

alles Leben ist Bewegung
alles (Er)Leben ist Stille

all life is motion
all experience is silence

and interesting link: life is Leben. and to experience life is to Erleben. plus Leben when written without capital L is the verb: to live. leben.

the energy of life. parallel to yoga, it also rose in the pots where i planted the sunflower seeds last week. now they are growing on the window sill, and shedding their seed-shells. i took a photo, and a close-up which turned out zen-like.

alone

he just came from meeting miro and erro in the Esbaluard. walked out of the door, and saw her. sitting there. in the perfect spot to be with the world around. in the perfect spot to be alone. he played with the idea of walking up to her and saying something original and witty. then he thought twice, climbed on the stones in front of him and sat down to be alone, too.

it was only after she had left that he realized that it had been a while since he felt so connected in such a fragile way.

- photo friday, challenge: "alone"

posi-tea-vity

• lipton :: tea
• reason :: without
• terms :: of acceptance
• positive :: vity
• example :: for
• legacy :: extacy
• solo :: clarinette
• instrument :: tool
• later :: today

- Unconscious Mutterings, week 212

every living thing

sunday and it's rain. i stand in front of the terrace door, looking out to the garden, this garden of february, this garden of trees without leafs and flowers hibernating yet. but the first messengers of life are there already: a first flower opening. a first bee. a first butterfly.

the butterfly, it takes me back to last summer, to this photo i took there. it's the same, i think. the same butterfly. or rather: the same kind of butterfly. butterflies don't fly through winter. they fade when the frost comes, leaving only their memory, and some little butterfly eggs.

the search of the butterfly photo takes me to another page, one with a quote about struggle. i wanted to copy it right away, then forgot. all i remember is that it's from Rilke. and starts with "every little thing." i type the words into google. like magic, a second later, the quote appears, in an extended version, what that moves on from struggle to aloneness, the theme of this month's philosophy cafe.

"People have, with the help of so many conventions, resolved everything the easy way, on the easiest side of easy. But it is clear that we must embrace struggle. Every living thing conforms to it. Everything in nature grows and struggles in its own way, establishing its own identity, insisting on it at all cost, against all resistance. We can be sure of very little, but the need to court struggle is a surety that will not leave us. It is good to be lonely, for being alone is not easy. The fact that something is difficult must be one more reason to do it."
- from Letters to a Young Poet

thank you, butterfly.

so little, so powerful

it's spring days here in the south of germany. it doesn't feel real, and maybe there will be winter coming back, but right now it's lovely. the flowers in the garden open, one after another, and they gave me the idea to start a flower diary.

here is the diary page: in the garden of colour. and here, an extra page for the latest entry, contributed by a little magic crocus, growing out of the green, unplanted, unexpected: so little, so powerful.

more to come. the narcisses are already building bulbs, just like the hyazinths.

- photo friday, challenge: "textured"

cross the invisible line

• threshold :: invisible
• suspicion :: dark
• tender :: touch
• tempted :: cross the line
• repulsive :: retro
• bulldog :: catfish
• garage :: door
• racket :: ball

- unconscious muttering, week 211

all-eins

alone, all one. it's the same in German. allein. all-eins. i never noticed this. then came yesterday, and with it, a philosophical cafe. which also made me look and find these lines about being alone. an invitation. in thought.

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
and if you dare to meet your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow;
if you have been opened by life's betrayals,
or have become shrivelled and closed for fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,
without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own:
if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic,
or to remember the limitations of being human.

I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day,
and if you can source your life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,
and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the moon, "YES!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done.

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
at the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself,
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

- Oriah Mountain Dreamer, from the book The Invitation

orange

sky is motion
towards a horizon
towards a new day
to take shape

orange is so much more
than a word
than a fruit
to slice in pieces

- photo friday, challenge: "sky"

under open trees

• the best things :: aren't things
• hold :: close
• rapture :: bite
• cover :: under
• restrictive :: open
• baker :: street
• author :: ship
• pill :: pink
• months :: trees

- unconscious mutterings, week 210

on writing

going through mails i just came across this list of questions sent from the young cousin of a friend for a school exercise, and my answers. thinking of it, this in fact was the first interview i gave about writing.

Q: I also need some advice from you. You are a writer?
A: Yes, I am a writer - I write short stories and poems. So far I have one book published: "Masala Moments" - it's a travel novel, based on my own journeys through India.

Q: What are the skills that I need to be a good writer?
A: The skills a writer need are: curiousity for the world, and the patience to work with a text as long as it takes to make it good. Also it's important to read a lot. And to write a lot. Someone once gave me this advice: "Write a lot. Write everyday. Write as much as possible. The more you write the better your writing gets."

Q: A. says that you are German. Do you write in German or English?"
A: I am German, and I write both in German and in English.

Q: What do you enjoy most about writing?
A: What I enjoy most about writing... to create scenes and stories just by using a pencil and a paper. it's like magic, isn't it? there's the white page, and an hour later, there's a story or a poem that will be read by others, by people I have never met.
.

closer

the world seen
from the point of view
of a crocus
is a larger world,
and at the same time
a closer world.

sky over now

• limit :: sky
• voice :: over
• change :: now
• expression :: image
• tailor :: shirt
• lemonade :: ginger
• thought :: dream
• impression :: monet
• sister :: flower

- unconscious mutterings, week 208

snow travels

snow travels from the Pacific and is blow-dried on the way across the desert

snow travels at an average speed of 100 miles per hour in an avalanche

snow travels to visit a sultan and ask for his assistance

snow travels down to the bottom of the page

snow travels, living out its passion

- thursday challenge & google: "vacation / journey"

seen

one passing moment
seen from the close distance of
a passenger's seat

- photo friday, challenge: "fast"

small things i'm grateful for

chicoree salad with feta and balsamico

the peacefulness of the lilac flowers blossoming in the frosty earth right in front of my terrace door

sitting and listening to the church bells ringing noon

singular snow flakes dancing in the january air

slipping back into the warm bed after taking a morning shower

- inspired by my topography

the insides of colour

trees sleep
time moves
through the insides
of dreams
of colour

- thursday challenge "white"

one open plot

• episode :: one
• source :: open
• jerk :: hidden
• introduce :: heureux
• stare :: sunglasses
• cast :: away
• scenario :: plot
• flu :: aspirin
• mad :: max

- unconscious mutterings, week 206

stone peace

one of the most peaceful smiles i have seen on my journeys, carried by a carved stone figure in bayon, one of the temples of angkor wat, cambodia. best way to see it: get up at 4 (a.m. that is), get picked up by a motobike at 4.30, drive to the temples while it's still dark, to be there for dawn. sit down on one of the ancient temple terraces, and see the light return to the world, bringing back the colours and the sounds. and then, see this smile appear out of the haziness of the darkness, set there in a past that is still present.

- photo friday, challenge: "peaceful"

concentrate

this week, the first yoga lesson of the year. starting with reflections on the new year. in my mind, the resolutions i think of, but haven’t yet written on paper. even though it’s the second week of january already. maybe i want to keep them lingering some more, still formable, still more alive than they might be when put in words.

one of them: write a novel. in German. get it published by a publishing house.

another: sort through all the things i own. let go of what i don’t need. make more space for the things that are precious to me.

and with that, in a wider sense: concentrate. intensify.

or, like someone put it in an art feature: make as much as possible with as little as possible.
this alreay reflects in the sunrise collage, based on the view of one single window.

and this one. printed on a memory stick: do more. share more.

also: just do it. and keep in mind that difficult things become easy by doing them, and easy things become difficult by not doing them.

this also refers to putting new year resolutions in ink.
~~

whirl

new year time reel
resolutions spinning hopes
endings turning to
beginnings opening
floors of possibility,
doors to next levels

and what are your plans
i ask the woman in red
after sitting in a yoga circle -
to stay on the surface
of the stream, she answers,
to just not get caught
in the next whirl

- thursday challenge: "new"

try the missing piece

• incomplete :: missing piece
• chopstick :: china
• trauma :: healing
• hesitate :: try
• leap :: and the net will appear
• magnify :: light
• yards :: baseball
• alexander :: elephant
• fracture :: crack

- unconscious mutterings, week 205

call

mangled nude absurd
brutalities meow, hearts call
call, meek

- real sky, automatic haiku

recent publications

january - and it starts with three publications that form a coloured trip through time:

Cherry Charm - a 4-word poem, containing the words "bathrobe, plastic, juxtapose & impediment", to be read in eclectica

Lanzarote - an island diary, written in November under the sun of Spain, now online in Serene Light.

Wrapped in December - a street snack poem, to be unwrapped in the Cautionary Tale Food Spectacular (which comes with a tasty cook book-lette - check out it, there is a chocolate kiss waiting inside.)

the extended version of this list is up here: list of publications

january flowers

the first friday of january was all rainy, but it was the nice kind of rain: it stopped just when she unfolded her umbrella and stepped out of the house. are you sure?, she asked the sky. as an answer, she left the umbrella indoors and took an extra turn when walking back from the small supermarket. that's how she came past the flower shop, and saw the white pots with little yellow narcissus, just starting to grow. of course, she had to buy two of them, one for herself, and one for her painter friend who would visit her later.

the flower shop waitress wrapped the flower pots up in orange paper. all those spring colours!, she said to the shop assistant. the shop assistant smiled, then thought for a second, turned, picked something from the bench beyond the counter, and handed her - a fancy red flower. for free. all surprised, she said thanks twice to the shop assistant, and left, feeling like christmas. it was only when she was back home, looking for a place to put the flower, that it started to rain again, and that she remembered the fifth of her new year's resolution: to ask for the name of the flowers before she carried them out of the flower shop.

~

some hours later: the riddle is solved. the flower's name is: amaryllis. it belongs to the family of amaryllidaceous. which, as the scienticts figured, also the narcissus belong to. which makes the two flowers in the photo actually sisters. and with that, unexpected an unplanned, solves the task to find an entry for this week's photo friday challenge.

- photo friday, challenge "sisters"

asleep

the forest, asleep
while i walk, while i take
a photo of trees covered
with frozen december dew

a single hour of sun rays
could wake the birds,
could melt the frost
and churn the sky to blue

back home, a line in a printed
interview, stating that i'm
someone else altogether, yet
somehow missed to be that one.

ich bin eigentlich ganz anders
aber ich bin nie dazu gekommen

folding away the newspaper i try
to imagine the tree who gave
its life for this line to be printed,
to be rooted in black on white.
.

solstice

it's winter solstice today. from tomorrow on, the days will grow longer again. how i miss the light. sunrise today was quarter past eight, with sunset arriving at half past four. which filled the day with 8 hours of light and 16 hours of darkness.

may the light return to the world and bring peace~

a definition of time

the exhibition consisted of 560 photos, all placed in one room, sorted in four fields: existence, relationship, desire and time. she went there on a tuesday afternoon, while the sky was a blurry white. the one photo that touched her most was black and white, named "time - a leather raft on the yellow river". she wanted to take a photo of it, but in this room of photography, taking photos was not allowed. so she just wrote down the words.
outside, the sky had turned to colour by the time she walked out of the one room again. on impulse, she tried a revolving door that belonged to the first floor. it lead to an inside square, then on to a stairway. up on the roof terrace, there was a chair, placed as if waiting for someone to visit it in the chill of December. time is a sole chair in front of a blue sky, she said, and went to get her jacket.

found wisdom

Zen Blogger’s Manifesto

Do not follow in the footsteps of others,
seek what they sought and make your own footsteps.

Write not for others, as there are too many.
Write for yourself, as there is only one.

Subtract before you add.
Listen more than you speak.

Give more than you take.
Make but do not measure.

If you want to change the world,
love someone.

From sellsius via gaping void via small ponderings.

soft tags

monday morning. downstairs, there are new windows. installed to keep out the cold. some of them come with a structured surface, to also keep views out. what i didn't know: depending on the outside light, they also induce light effects, like these twin cubes of light on a pastel ground. upstairs, on my computer, there are new windows, too. the new version of the Internet Explorer is installed. it comes with more fonds, bringing out more of the personality of websites.

and since this morning, there's a third row of windows: NoTellMotel will feature a series of poems this week that i wrote in summer: rag tag crush & co. there will be one new poem per day, Monday to Friday, the page is: NoTellMotel. the first poem is "rag tag". which made me finally look up "tag" in a dictionary, and find that it's a word of 32 meanings. i love words like that. tag tag. and for the trigonometry of the list, and the week, a 33th meaning: in German, Tag means: day.

footprints of mars

• hardball :: soft touch
• sleepless :: in seattle
• graduation :: rise to the task
• presents :: pasts
• toe :: footprint
• lotion :: skin
• snicker :: mars
• eve :: adam
• investment :: $
• pain :: killer

- unconscious mutterings, week 202

frameless

sunday came and went, leaving her longing for the freshness of snow skies, for the way clouds can come and curl, can cover the now in a frameless blanket. one day, she said, and went to bed, to return to the dream she had while staying on the island of fire, this dream about flying.

- Photo Friday, challenge "freshness"

recent publications

my recent publications include a stairway encounter, two neuronal poems, structures that peace & an experimental essay on borders :

Harlequin - a stairway encounter, to be found between anticipation and apparitions in juked

rave & 359 degrees - two neuronal poems, included in a virtual void

Structures that Peace - a reflection, online in the"Knowledge and Growth" issue of Sage of Consciousness

Defining Lines - an experimental essay on borders, featured in dogmatika

the extended version of this list is up here: list of publications

stillness

stillness is the green tune
of a singular palm tree
growing like a poem
out of silent stone

- Photo Friday, challenge "Stillness"

light

Scientifically seen,
light is nothing but
an electromagnetic radiation
with a wavelength
that is visible
to the human eye.

- Photo Friday, challenge "light"

parallel lines

It was sunny, too warm for the end of October. The perfect day to cut the hedges and trees in the garden. I put on the working gloves, and all went well for the first hour: cutting the hegde, cutting the withered summer flowers. Then I started to cut the rosehip bush. I knew that it would be better to put on a long sleeved working shirt for this one, but somehow I just kept cutting. And of course, just some minutes later, one of its thorny twigs scratched across my bare left forearm, as if to say "so there."
The scratch wasn't deep, it didn't even start to bleed, but it was long, ending at my wrist, running almost parallel to the vein that is visible there through the skin. So even when I put on a long sleeved pullover, it looked like I tried to cut my wrist in the way that would do most harm.

- anovelinayear, task 3: I want you to think about a time in your life when you had an accident, then I want you to write an account of that accident. Just tell me what happened, without embellishment or analysis.

delve

time moves in circles
of 12 hours and months

listen to the minutes
fall through the sky

when the hands of time
delve into the next hour

- Thursday Challenge, theme: "time"
.

the first of the eleventh

a medley in red
marking the first November
in roofs and in leafs

snow to come they say
floating in with arctic air
to turn red to white

tell us this ain't true
plead the young yellow flowers
with the northern winds
.

this journey called a novel

novels are journeys, for the writer and for the reader. good novels are journeys that remain, that keep on moving. they are like magic. that’s what i want to create: a journey that encompasses moments, thoughts, scenes that otherwise would be lost, or wouldn’t have come into existence.
also, on a more down to earth note, novels are the form of fictional writing that are opening the doors to another level, one of being read, being taken serious, being able to earn ones living by writing. which is the level i want to reach.

- anovelinayear, task 2: I want you to tell me why you want to write a novel - not why you want to be a writer, but why, specifically, a novelist. This time, avoid the temptation to be clever or funny. Sit quietly for a minute and think about it, and be simple and honest.

blues

october twigs letting go
of curled red leaves
under a great blue sky,
the remains of summer
falling to the pavement

where a man in green jacket
and green trousers waits,
he brushes them together
in piles and wraps them up
in huge blue plastik bags

to be carried away
to be turned to earth
in the communale
compost farm

- Thursday Challenge, theme: "autumn"

i am

The day after my eighth birthday, my father told me that I am old enough to climb a mountain now.
"I am," I started to answer, then stopped, searching for the right words.
"See, I knew it," he said to my mother, unaware of the fact that I hadn't really finished my sentence.

- anovelinayear, task 1: Take up a notebook and pen, and write one sentence, beginning with the words, "The day after my eighth birthday, my father told me..." Write more than a sentence if you like but just one sentence is fine.

free falling

the radio was playing Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Free Falling, when the phone rang, once, then twice. on the third ring, i picked it up. in that very moment, one of the red petals in the blue vase decided that this would be a good time to let go, and sailed down, landing in a new form of itself, its core still in the centre.
"wow," i said.
"hello?", the phone answered.

- Photo Friday, challenge "accidentally"

sunrise in a box

costume :: helloween

beg :: ger

hottie :: cooler

celebrity :: star

saturday :: sunrise

buckle :: up

doorbell :: gong

rude :: box

absence :: out

hyper :: media

- Unconscious Mutterings, week 195

innocence

innocence is a petal
opening in October

beyond the security
of a green fence

that guards this place
called summer

- Photo Friday, challenge "innocence"

tides

a house built on sand. that was the first thing they saw of the bay of pollentia. a house, about to drift away into the ocean. in all the years that followed, they looked for it when they reached the bay, expecting it to be gone. but in all those years, the house surprised them by keeping its balance, there, in the sand, in between the shells, in between the coming and going of tides.

- Photo Friday, challenge "destruction"

breathe forward

weeks :: time

cough :: cougar

jail :: wall

produced :: grown

? :: !

stapler :: box

next :: forward

oxygen :: breathe

musical :: tune

- Unconscious Mutterings, Week 193

in the hour of dusk

leaving genua
in the hour of dusk
with the lights
floating by
like a river
into darkness
waiting for the night
to rise

- Thursday Challenge, theme: "dark"

thin

in tune with the theme of photo friday and the dew haiku, a spider was weaving its web in the garden yesterday. this morning, it sparkled with dew drops, held by those thin web strings, looking like a microcosmos of star drop constellations, there, in the backyard.

this dew drop world
may be a dew drop
but still...

- Photo Friday, challenge "thin"

lunar light

they had been there all day, but it was in the night, on the way back from the restaurant called Arlequin, that they were alone at the beach. "the moon," she said, and pointed at the reflection on the water that moved in waves. they walked with it, with this reflection, and she was amazed how it moved with them, how it stayed by their side.
"it's what light does," he said, and painted the moon for her in the sand, and the sun, to explain the reflection.
that was what she remembered, the next day. the sand moon, and the sand sun. and the riddle of the reflected lunar light that moved with them.

- Thursday Challenge, theme: "light"

tsuyo

this week i am working on a language project that includes poems in other tongues. that's how i found this poem, and came to translate it. then i thought, it expresses its meaning even when you don't understand the words. that's how i was drawn to it.

Tsuyo-no-yo wa
tsuyu-no-yo nagara
sari nagara
- Issa, Japan
.

anger

anger has an ugly face
void of colours
stuck to black on white
it sits under the naked feet
of the known world
waiting to bite

- Photo Friday, challenge "anger"