FIVE-FORTY

the moon the temptress
blouse buttons undone
lightening the last reaches of the night
beckoning and calling
the waves jumping and howling
the pack´s on heat

yes, empires and species die out
yet i sing, i breathe still
let´s hear it for the freaks, the competent, the great and the fuckers

let us go then
you and i
scared
clenching the reins awkwardly
to ride onwards
for just as long as it is possible

this is beyond that little love
this is beyond solidarity

my country

behind her skirts
a babe in the midst of bull rushes
hiding behind the girls hoola-hooping
trying not to get my clothes grubby
is it luxury to feel four years old ?
a crime?
irrelevant to the matter at hand ?
the festival of the judges is a riot of colours, styles, weapons, cults
machine gun pronouncements, slipshod hangings, sentences, barren wastes of time
i peer out through a crack to be nabbed by an unsteady moralist
who tells me to stand up and be counted
i scream
not my world
not my problem
i muff and swaddle myself wishing to be a hippo in his mud
a two year old with his bright yellow plastic ducks

declaration

i declare i am in the weeping woof of time sutton smack has cleared my mind totally of all possible thought palm trees, waterwheels a gaping hole in the wall of the dwelling a mawl that has been widened by a dull fire-hardened stick lists, experiences, i see nothing just running on empty

nothing more

is it true
that it all comes out in the wash
at the end of the day ?
when all are sad and dun ?
johnny screams : i can´t wait that long
wait or not, is her response
the measured steps of time
follow one another like days and years
all i want
he gritting his teeth, suppliant, defiant, stammering
is certainty
she says, you´re on your own now boy
like always
eat of the tree
look at the world, its smoke and mirrors
he hurls his glass against the wall
she : yes, feel your strength
and your weaknesses
there is nothing more

salt sea mamma

a motorboat along the line
between sea and sky
sun sprinkles silver and white
into a murky green sea
waves riding in eagerly

had too much of numbers, taxes, calculation, equity,
balance sheets, distribution, cheques, payments, percentages, loans, rates

i unclasp her bra
baby seal, my head bobbing
mouth finds the nipple
salt sea mamma will suckle me
and all will turn to the best

walking, running

i walk through a department store
in this mediterranean tourist town
rows upon rows upon rows
of household appliances
easter island faces staring at the sea
burners, hairdryers
polished voodoo
shimmering monsters
in croydon county court
a lawyer pleads for clemency
citing a moment of madness
tho´ i hate and fear these young men
i know and feel it too

time change

mamma !
the sudden call
breaks through quiet folds of sleep
the helper shifts from low-state introspection
to alert
to read and follow signs slewed by illness

time is the mystery
time, rhythm, mystery
a piebald piper am i
sitting by the atlantic
watching wave upon wave
trying to comprehend
to cut through the pinball overlay
the bells, the shrieks, the moralists running berserk
to get to where really is

help !

it´s 4 a.m.
hotel in zurich
cigarette smoke from the open window
outside, junkies transacting business
i wait
i am waiting for nothing
screaming
just to see without understanding
howling at the moon
o glorious shamash
o the heart that i have from my mamma
help me
please

a pretty pass

galloping through the pass
my heart stampeding
dust cloud half-killing me
stop
peace for a few moments
then the harrying resumes
looking at the ground
sullen, stubborn, misunderstood

i had glimpsed the shutters
thrown wide open
of the woman´s room
leapt for joy and then remembered
how it is these days
a time our sexual relationship was all-consuming
with the obsessive intensity of the couple relationship
now it´s sporadic
for me the obsession careering wildly
like a flake of sodium burning up on water

told you so !

a sneering moralist told me
yes, strike a dramatic attitude
and shout out
all or nothing !
the time will come
when all is gone
you´ll stare at dust
and suffer from serious pulmonary and respiratory complaints

mamma, the sea

i expect to die by the sea
whatever
a bomb attack on a harbour bar
this century´s lisbon earthquake and associated tsunami
a plane falling out of sky into sea
too much sun, heart seizing up
as i emerge from the waves
or just rowing
the tide turns
and i´m rowing
just rowing on

MONO

kicking dustbins over
smashing glass windows
bawling and screaming
you want to pwn her
but you´re not strong enough
and she´s not fool enough
moses shorn of his beard

lionheart

adolescents, we sat in music booths
listened and laughed
you were he
whom all the girls fancied
lost in medieval dust
i tagged along
as far as i could
you didn´t let it hurt you
when i cold-shouldered you
you well knew you held all the aces
those days we kept nail files, bus pass and a few coins in our school pockets
now forty years on i read your story
how your god-named son has saved you
for the time being

i greet you my friend
no-one has more
than the time being
but you know it better than most

tearful times

i feel like a whale fish
grounded on the sands

perhaps they will come
with their animal-friendly technology
solicitously winch me back into swimmable waters

or my mother, the sea, will hear my cries
she will come to my bedroom
bringing high tides
and i can dive again
deep down into the deep waters
there i´ll remain a long time
in the depths
before coming back up
to blow

friday

o my heart, that i have from my mamma !
last night i went to my room, buried my face in my hands
and just cried...

sally, you know me

feel i´m one of the
walking wounded
and what battle was it ?
just some stupid business deal
drinking coffee, eating in restaurants, negotiating and calculating day and night
so that we have more chick peas, more cheddar than the next man
and sally
i still can´t dance
i still can´t love my being

me and a troubled world

in this troubled world
my worries weigh little
tho´ heavy on my shoulders

socially awkward
i seek to dance in my poems
a sublimation
that i don´t quite manage

two

about my father :
a time his fire raged
now a pummice stone in the bathroom
is the only witness to past passions
a stone now used to rub away the stains
the reminders of life lived

about his son :
stupid
foolish
melodramatic
romantic
depressed
would like to be on the golf course
and then to dive into egyptian fleshpots

Nicolas, single, 24 years

nicolas looks in the mirror
not bad
teeth a bit prominent but beautifully whitened
red hair combed back smartly

i wear sensitive glasses
well-fitting jeans
casual, elegant shirts
with personality

yes, they are watching my every move
all eyes on me
i open my mouth ever so slightly
they hang on my lips

i say things in a fascinating way
the world is very impressed
when i quietly say
that design is frozen life

edgy

I see production and consumption
the dance of the vanities
intricate complications
finance, well-being
weapons systems

I see, and you too see
the models on the catwalk
the trim beard of the environmentalist
the proud fathers of sports cars
the high fives in the chic bars
the refugees shouting for water
for a drop of humanity

I listen out for the silent one
I prick my ears
are those steps approaching ?
we all want, we all need
all bleed

I hear the cook chattering
about scandals, the internet, politicians
the drivers admiring, desiring the gleaming automobiles
I hear it, don´t you hear it too ?

The players of instruments
druggies or prim performers
are sometimes the only ones

The plain clothes inspectors catch the faredodger and I hate them
don´t you too ?

evening

good evening, mr. jones, said she
i put my arm around her
she turned in to me
i felt her breasts pressing against my chest
so i told her
yes my love
i am a bent corkscrew
but there ´s a good future for us together

8 years old

the sinking of the scharnhorst
a drama at the piano
and in poster paints
red, gray, and black

to say
only at that moment did i live
would be unfair
but not a million miles from the truth

15.02.2011

15 february 2011
one of the happiest days in my life

there are times

there are times
when you feel every inch of your skin
you transfer the fingers
so that your head no longer splays them
register the pressure release of each individual finger
you feel movement in your belly
as the tea you drank negotiates a path through your digestive system
mobilizing enzymes and stomach muscles
you feel the sole of your feet pressing through the sandal onto the floor tiles
right leg crossed over left, the slight knick in the knee
white noise in your ear
you breathe in and out
you assume you will live forever
you know this is illusion
you know the score as regards immortality
your heart of different ages
will not keep beating for ever
these banal moments
intimations of mortality
are maybe all you really have

from over yonder

CLUCK CLUCK CLUCK
TIP TAP
STOMACH TURVY
THOUGHTS
TICK TOCK TICK
TIME
SMELL
BREATHING
DRINKING
CLICK CLACK
DONT STOP

good advice

running on empty
slurping up the lees
why sneeze ? why do or don´t ?
you make a wish for change, it won´t
less you shit it out
spatter and spit it out
churn it all up

hard liquor, dirty cups, ketchup
scrambled savage orgies
with gorgeous glimpses of frills
fuck thrills -- what a feeling !
your head´s now reeling
as the real
the sexual
intense
contextual
hetero, metro, homo or solo
storms out guns a-blazing
sending you like crazy

hit the ground running son
or you´ll break an ankle
spoil your game
and end up back with the same
old empties

talk

fading in and out
thinking
really ?
why ?
should this really be ?
we talk and talk and talk
and talk and talk
in a vain attempt
to order the world

hospital

it´s mean
how it´s so clean
no tics no bugs in the clinic
spick spit polish span
soon you will utter your gutter mutter
your last words
drop your last turds
shit´s over
dead certain
behind the final curtain
physical corpse in the hole
starting to decay
from smelling off to stinking bad
shit´s over
remember the white cliffs of dover
they never knew you
and won´t bawl boohoo
and life will continue