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

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 

Boekenweek 2017 voordracht op Eindhovens Boekiebal in Natlab, 1 april 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

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…

Homesick

Riding bumper cars, getting hit with a punch to the stomach, going round on rotaries
tired of shotguns, rear views and backseats
Trying to get off this Merry-go-round
Fairground
Carousel
After my own tail running about
need care and sell Buicks
beat and bruised
I’m motion sick
Driving me crazy
Let’s bring home the bacon
No more time for fakin’
Let’s not settle for seconds,
its hours for the takin’
I want to be homesick,
For someone that will see me through
Someone to come home to
20/20 in the rearview
I want to be homesick
drive stick
grab the wheel and turn it too
Just want to be with you.
Wine, dine and do it too
Dream together, get up, take the kids to school
Like a punch to the stomach, home’s broken without you
So Merry no longer goes round
you are close to home I’m homebound
No longer have to roam
Round and round is straightened out
And when I park what’s trailing in the dead of night
and collect storeys to mansion
climb my stares to take flight
meet in the middle at two to level
on the landing to dance to our lyrics
and the beating of rain on the roof
till then, I’m just homesick

makeup

Wish I were a makeup artist.

So, I could lay foundation and line

what’s perfect.

Cover up experience and scar

–        Tissue

–        paper.

I would pay attention, mask, care and take time

But seriously, wish I were a makeup artist.
I would love, fight, draw lines
drop covers and make up.

I would make up for lost time.

Laughs had at expense,

that never had last dance,

or first one,

for tears shed or

words said

but didn’t

Though, I tried to be nice;

I didn’t master the skill to sit you down

and listen

while working on your confidence.

I would make up stories that would always be lies

cause the face wearing the mask would be mine

Per jury

Order in the court

Calmly composed communicate craft

What sentence to rap

Will we reach mutual composition?

Will something manifest?

All too often we don’t reach periods but are left hanging

Dangling like modifiers.

Under fire without statement

On trial with your feet still on the pavement

What is yours, surely got to be mine? We’re all the same, right?

The jury reached its verdict

So I no longer do verbal

I no longer state but roe vs. wade

I take time to put words to rhyme

Black on white

And hope you take time to read what’s on my mind

And if not well that’s on you as at least I get from it a less troubled view 

The jury reached its verdict

Defendant; we claim self-defense

Composer: get out of jail! Free speech!

The cell’s overcrowded, a lot on my plate

Composer with lost composure that’s why I don’t speak but create

This was the last meal I ate

Cold shoulder, pleas and cannots

Some just don’t get you but still cite and allude to

The point you made but didn’t get the meaning

Your case is rested on the deaf and the hearing

Aide! The audience needs sage and time on the mic

 

Some don’t use knives

For sentences served

Cut off by the bar

They kill speech with preju-dish

Too hard to digest for their semi-colons.

And unsatisfied appetite

Understanding dies

When you’re cut off mid sentence.

With works scythed conversation is a dead sentence

In a Coma

Splice

Break glass

Strong suit

Run-into-wall man is doing the best he can

keeps his head up, inhales, gears up and

with a head of steam and positive energy

smashes his smile into the masonry

Walls and doors are just the same

doors won’t open, walls receive his wail

collect his efforts among their rubble in a pail

Persistence is key that opens what is framed

Run-into-wall man is dead tired of trying

Rearranges his helmet

wipes his eyes of what has transpired

between belly and pant seam tucks some pamphlets

Runs at it strong headedly

Grinning at the cracks he sees

As he heaves pamphlets and all

over the wall

the wall’s on fire people are tired

paper cuts in their ears on either side on the other side

his words make an impact but do not adhere

Run-into-wall man no longer runs but cups his hands around his mouth

until someone comes to see what he’s on about

but if only someone would

open up and see  his strong suit

Origami amor

She said I carry snow in my pockets

From the past, started in my sockets

She comments on pillows of mine

They’re not fluffy but used

for noses snotty, runny and moisture infused

When wearing a frown above blurry eyes

She knows to stroke counterclockwise

Turn back my thoughts like hands on my face

Oh how many hours in this happy daze?

It may come as no surprise but when I rise

Or try to move from under and am with her

The duvet seems warmly freshly poured

We swim like towel swans in each other’s court

We rest our heads on handkerchiefs far from plush

The flakes have evaporated from under us

Once ugly ducklings, now manifest

as snow white pages

we don’t ruffle feathers but caress

to collect feathers for cases

to billow in wind that dries our backs to statuesque

let’s bundle up in this bindle that we made our bed

and unfold what wings can hold 

whether picnic or kafkaesque