Love born

The cigarette lit
Her laughter…
A hug at the bar
A kiss for good night

While the wind howled
And some cars drove by in a distance
Night with empty streets
And pubs filled

Two minutes ahead
The cigarette extinguished
Door opens
Her shadow caresses you
Your breath catches her aroma…

Moment of chance
Or the universe’s deliberation
Your walk
Shall be accompanied...

Complaints of a Fruit

I wonder why on Earth he bit me.
He probably couldn’t keep it in his pants!
And then, after so many years, this guy is waiting for me to fall.
What am I?
Everybody’s answer?
I shall not fall!
I await the caressing hand that will gently pull me,
away from my mother’s womb.
Carefully undress me,
spoon my insides out,
beat me to a pulp.
What a taste!
Some tongue feeling the pleasure…
Now I can scream:
I AM JUST AN APPLE!

Page of my Dreambook

It is black
And the ink is white
The letters are small
And the text condensed
Meaning?
There is no meaning
Just dribbles
Of an old young fool

Drunk and disorderly
The page looks
It reeks of alcohol and smoke
But through the smoky veil
The dampened atmosphere
Deep in the soul’s cabaret
There my Dreams peacefully reside.

The Renaissance Discovery of Time

The painting is Ideal
Ideal is time
Time is existence
Like Botticelli’s Spring
My time and Yours
Flowing, continuous, perplexed
But also simple and beautiful

Are we an Ideal?
Living in time
Discovering our Ideal
Painting our Spring

If we were
Which Museum would house us?

Train

The train takes off.
Yes…It flies, no rails does it follow.
What would happen if trains flew?
The birds, the landscapes, pass by too fast to discern anything.
All is too green
Houses, animals
Seem to be one
One big cow for the whole journey
Only near the stations, cities closing
The rhythms of everyday life
Resumed once more
Cars, traffic lights, families with groceries, people crossing the street, coming and going…
The beggar lying at the far corner
Cold again tonight
I will have reached home by this journey’s end.

Train station Roof

Standing you see
The families rushing to the coaches
The kids that follow, unwillingly
The lovers’ goodbye kiss
The tears that flow, unwillingly
The friends saying farewell
The looks back at the departed, unwillingly

In the end
A whistle’s blow
The beginning of a journey