the end

this_is_the_end

Sorry,
I can’t tell you here
what value, how important,
where everlasting.
Haven’t found it, every bit
is rising like a moon
no matter if it’s a thing
or a thought it disappears
somewhere.
I feel human, literally
a heart pumping veins
in rings of muscle. And
also empty space between
all of you and this isolation of brain,
language, dark brown eyes,
I let you walk pass me
passersby. If I touch
you by chance by accident by love by desire
by dinnertime by church by antiquity by destiny
by skin by Friday by crying by leaving
it will be my memory moaning for
togetherness again with the ebb and flow
of zeroes echoing in the silence.
I do not claim
my isolation is unique,
my brain bottled in language
looking out into the world
through dark brown eyes.
But I cannot touch you
when you are a tricklebird
dripping from the skyline.
Sorry,
our days are numbered and
we must face the tough blue earth
as if it were the end–

 

Contemporary Poetry

apologetics of waste

I have,
somber,
taken the
age
by its feathers
flapping heedlessly
towards
the wasteful

the glass
is clear
with signs
of sorrow;
how to blame
the cathedral
for having
gold angels
in its marble
cross

for
the touch
is not random
but decoding
the material
language,
translating it
to pure
essence

I have,
somberly,
taken the
task
of discovering
the fatal
mistake
of our
lives.

Nihilis
tic Poe
try

there will be poetry

There will be poetry

There will be poetry
as long as the world
swirls in mad convulsion

there will be poetry
as long as the world
is hidden truth with
dreary eyes

there will be poetry
as long as the world
is a road to the dead
silence

there will be poetry
as long as the world
covers us with the cold
skin of bitter mystery

there will be poetry
at 5am with glass o’
whiskey till the horizon
blends in with the empty sleep.

 

 

More Poems

the right bar

bukowski beer

The poem
was about my impressions
on a night walk at a snowy city
I thought about the name of the poem
and considered this title:
“ the disjointed impressions of a night
walk in the city”
not only alluring
but also clarifying
so that the disjointed pieces
of impressions
would be recognized
as such.

After a few lines like:
The city full
of virgin space
or
walking mechanisms

I stopped writing impressions
in a highly poetic manner
and had one quick
0.5 L
beer at one ‘happening’ bar
the beer was slurped
five minutes later
I was out and walking
looking for the next bar

I referred to the quick beer
as “having a ‘Bukowski’ beer”
when my wife rang and asked about
my whereabouts, she was
surprised when I called
her back less than 2 minutes
later and told her I was
out looking for the next bar
and we should meet up
in the new one
which I efficiently found
moments later after I hung
up
up Oranienstrasse
covered in pink fur;
I unhesitatingly asked for
a beer – which the bartender
quickly brought –
in contrast to the other place
where the bartender
shrugged her shoulders
and pointed to the menu
with a long list of local and imported beer
brands.

Just a beer – if they
bring it right away
you know
you’re in the
right bar.

nihilistic poetry

Tinges of blue

 

 

I left the office shy of two o’clock

gaining inside a shudder that could reach

just beyond the boundary of solitude.

              I raised this old neck of mine

                           the sky was me.

Belonging to dreams we no longer dare to glimpse

               futures too powerful too bear

fears that out of plain habit

covered me like husks of wisdom.

So eternally blue – with the intensity of an S

similar to the smell of dawn, depths of now

                                      bright as selflessness

        blue as sky.

A kind of rejoicing, a mystic’s forgotten book

                                       and the glory of erased words!

TO return, live a thousand sleeps

                       one more lonely death

varying degrees of godless hours

                                  those dissipated moments

hungry of freedom, so easily obscured.

               Bury me in lands of mute plants.

Blind pasts, unimportant futures.

                 The sky was me, I turned

I had gone away… hands overflowing possibility.

Go back to Beyond Language

Timelessness

Unable to escape this vast dawn

hanging upon me like an atmosphere of chemicals

a mechanical tingling from ages’ past

I’ve collected the motionless quantum of floating seeds
constantly mirroring the pinpoints of valleys

as seen from peaks of departure

I’ve spoken with the dark red shade of tomorrow
perhaps seducing despair to taste my blood

her choice fluttered like a hummingbird’s thought

I’ve fallen in those perimeters of wonder
unfelt timelessness

incapable of resisting the language of rising steam

The old skins of trees invade the territory of sense
while curves vague as clouds

              embroil this journey’s end.

 

 

 

 

Go back to Beyond Language

From the heights above

From the heights above

region of utter (but momentary) silence

one spasm of current, one flick of expectation: 
 

 

Thundering fingers of light 
 

 

you yearn to reach high

succumb to every celestial impulse

explore paths in those veins of pain

fury and euphoric in blindness

closing in at last to fulfillment

near-annihilation by  its sheer force

forsaken in its brilliance

              as the chariot of doom

                     heralds the advent of change
 
 

 

Then, laugh, laugh in Olympic stride

and close your eyes to the Void inside

 

 

 

 

Go back to Beyond Language