Populaire berichten

vrijdag 19 mei 2017

All that glitters is the bound bird

she is kept at bay windows
grimace pressed to glass
looking at those
that she never can possess


she can never board or dock in havens
save the fact
she spends time with ravens
wishing that
they were crow’s feet

bound like history books
encapsulated in their feathers
she could never gather
lessons learned like they took

 they took pride in looking at her
mocking bird as she was known
she felt for the birds
unlike them she couldn’t go

ties are invisible like family trees
that grow without water or light
nailed to the ground she remains free
afraid to take flight for fear of stage and height

mocking bird in the window sill
you are framed yet free still
why wait for the curtain
the play goes on for certain

the die is cast the shape of a weathercock
but she feels bound to roots and leaf of clover
when wind will change tides for better luck
she hopes it will blow over

no longer kept but cast to act
then she can sincerely clap
from a spire whereon she is bright
end scene at night

dinsdag 18 april 2017

Blues

You draw her up
then into your drawer
With lights
to ball up together
neatly aligned
like socks
blues and whites
cotton and wools
anything that mocks 


The cleanliness of new
or just as good


Clothing becomes laundry
when dirty and used
Thrown aside without identity
Rid of all use
Hampered

You draw her up at the door
Attention, let her in
Wash away the filth and sin
Forget mud, blood, grass stains
Spin merrily, whizz until tumble remains

Let’s hang out
Drop me a line
Then side by side
Neatly aligned
I got your back and you got mine
‘T was quite the ride
Three sheets to the wind
Then hung out to dry

The cleanliness of new
or just as good
has left us smooth
like how’d you do
let’s convert and converse
lie in my closet or chest
of drawers
I’ll tell you mine to blues in a verse
For fun while we rest

maandag 3 april 2017

sign language


the walls are down
we shimmy into each other
shaking off winter
we are a coat of arms

sort of a family sign
deaf to the world, we sign
symbols on skin
traced by fingertips

line after line
love letters in invisible ink
we read braille in the dark

shake off the down
her wing envelopes his back and around
opened each other’s mail;
blank sheets unbound

unsheathed
pages on the bed
covers unneeded what need needs not be said
lower your arms as I wrap mine around your crest

the walls are down
and we fall in love like feathers 


dinsdag 28 maart 2017

How to cure mono

hands in his head are writing on the wall of his skull
an inner autobiography from rise to fall
and the score is mostly violins
and other things orchestral

there’s choirs and visuals of gorges and waterfalls
visions of Eden in emerald, and animals plentiful
the acoustics are bad so no one hears what’s sad or sung
if only this was the whispering gallery
one would clearly hear what appears to be mere murmur
there are tail feathers and talons spread out wide
holding quills that scribble the birds’ cries
lyrics in drivel to songs of the caged mind
the wallpaper comes down when the head’s full of steam
and an open mouth like draw bridge down to let volumes out
how long will he live through word of mouth
when he talks to himself below scalp peened
his dome echoes monolog
between closed books on a shelf
about disease control and self-help
St Peter chisels in rock

maandag 27 maart 2017

Sesame Cul-de-sac


The Count taught me about numbers.
I counted sheep,
Counted on my parents
and things being the same
the day after, as I fall asleep.

Back then, they had songs about dreaming big and making it big.
You can be whatever you dig as long as you dig
said a guy in a bird suit yellow and big
Never was one, always stayed last
Finishing my math book while everyone had left.
I never had a thing for numbers
Always thought them daft.
The only Matt I knew sat behind me in class.
We used to race to school
to beat the buzzer
to make it in time
to watch time pass
pretend to not care
play cool.
They said, what do you want to be?
Pick anything. It never dawned on me.
You can be whatever you dream to be.
What if dreams never come true
or are nightmares just for you?
After all, life is just what happens
as you struggle to get through.
Maybe they mispronounced it; something about bees?
And we didn’t fully grasp it
living on our knees
We buzz through life like drones,
workers punching in, out, marching to the pounding of machines
managers and teachers like good marines.
You can be what you want to be
whatever that means
We count on things getting better and that all will find its way
that if we work hard enough you can be anything and happy
We count out the days til the weekend as 9 to 5 add up.
We’re on duty with guards on watch living by the clock
We’re settling for seconds where we should be getting ours.
When i grow up i want to be an astronaut, physicist, doctor, hair dresser, cashier.
Now that i am grown, i am wondering how did I get here?
Can you tell me how to get to…