risks&promises sleep back2back on train seats

i break bread with the raven
on the sidewalk, fervent raindrops splash-
ing on my knees&rivulets of mud
paint weird patterns

we’ve been talking
through the night, my back aches
“i have run too fast” i say
&he is
—–strayed feathers all around me

“mainly it’s the people, isn’t it
that make a place
feel home or–“
we chew slowly

as if every concrete pole&streetlight
tastes a bit //of us
of friendship
sharing
with the homeless with a plastic bucket next to him

“the sky is just today” i say
“it never stretches beyond the moment
in a way that it feels right”

a little girl with a poppy-red bike pedals by,
balloon strapped to the handlebar
heavy wind wrapping her pink-cheek face
in a thousand well kept secrets

&her smile is crumbs
slipping on the asphalt, between trucks&shards&cigarette butts,
birds chase after
i attach a feather to my coat

“nothing will get lost” i shout
over a crazy symphony of traffic

&the day falls sky-ward,
curls around the moon’s bright nose
“see?” the raven says

&there’s no need
————-to answer

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we’re writing “bread” today at dVerse… doors open at 3pm EST…

overnite the temp dropped heavily /&maybe that’s when things start shifting

basel

basel, sketched this while waiting for the scandinavian group to arrive..

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i turn my head, slowly
traffic’s peeling by, thick as machine-grease&
raindrops on my face
as if time slipping between
childhood days and–

“the battery has just 12V & we need 24” he says,
that can be solved
but we’re pressed for time
his one eye’s blind&stares beyond me
to a place i cannot see
red worker pants, black shirt,
dark curly hair

later i knock at the glass front of his shop,
hand him a box of chocolate
“thank you for your help”
“hey that’s ok, you don’t need to–“
“no” i smile “you saved our ass
they had to catch a flight at Zürich airport&–“

the traffic’s bad today, i crawl
2 meters in 10 minutes as my mobile rings
there’s nothing i can do
but stare at his dark skin
locomotive driver’s cap
above dark button eyes

he arrived once in a parcel on an island
was it Lummerland?
something along those lines
i smile

&he waves back
a band of steam on the horizon
cars honk&he nods in Luke’s direction
“he fixed a defect on the half-dragon’s volcano once”
“i know” i say
the metal of his screw-wrench red, reflecting
in the shine of taillights
love a man who knows to use his hands
i think&

“thanks again” he smiles
&i walk over to my office, wondering about his eye
the northwind whipping rainclouds
thick as elephants
across the wintersky

.

referring to “Jim Button and Luke the Engine Driver” by Michael Ende who found their way into my business day… smiles

The prompt for mtb at dVerse today is…. write a poem where…
-         something or someone that/who is not real suddenly comes alive
-         a character from a book shows up in your poem
-         someone suddenly disappears and finds themselves in a whole new place…

There’s a few things she could learn from Berlin

view from my munich hotel room

view from my munich hotel room

.
the city brushes her teeth
with water from the sidewalks,
combs her hair
in one swift movement with the breeze
&hardly sees me
as i walk the stairs up to the Karlstor

she has coins&gargoyles in her pockets
laughs loud
as the fire juggler throws a flaming staff
upUp&crashing
glowing red against night’s arms

she wears a blue/white Dirndl, woolen stockings
&a Basilisk sits in the nest above her head,
pairs of doves pick bread crumbs
from her stretched out hands

she eats Weisswurst, Pretzels&sweet mustard
driPs yellow from her lips
&i’m not yet sure if i trust her,
strolling along lit-up paths, the christmas market
feathery angels on thin sticks

in a run-down asian restaurant,
i take out my sketching kit&trace her outlines,
the black man across from me
who doesn’t speak her language,
a few workers on their lunchbreak,
the thin woman with a leather skirt&bright red lips

later in my hotel room i cannot sleep
and sing a lullaby to all the chimneys that have
laid their heads to rest outside my window

she puts on a sleeping gown,

a pure white negligée
tight above her breasts
“just for the night” she says

&i sing on

for some more minutes

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Gabriella has us write City poetry at dVerse today… pub doors open at 3pm EST

don’t count on me for real deep conversations//i–

image3

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“i taught the moths to fly–“ i say
silvery smile against the night
counting knotholes in the ceiling,
covered white, they’re not
exactly stars but–

i think of the old man, bent
and frail in a café in munich,
two grey women, chatting grandkids, fashion&
the latest gossip from the neighborhood
as i pull out my sketchbook,
black ink outlines, searching
for beyond

the house is quiet
i get in the bathtub, boiling hot
scrub the chill&dust off my slowly reddening skin

“they always fly towards the light” i say “i think–
wherever that might be”
&hang a sheet of silence in the half-dark,
his warm hands like bark against my skin
“sorry” he mumbles, tracing the S/curve of my spine
“they’re rough from the cold”
“that’s fine”

“i used to have a moth school” i say
“did you teach them to chew clothes?”
“of course” i smile “&then the flying,
always loved the flying most–“

i’ve got you in my radar ducks//just– i should hike the PCT maybe–

on the train to munich

on the train to munich

.
we got our fingers down the throat of–
&i swallow, having to confess that
at the end of me// the day//the month//a biz trip
or of anything
i’m a platform atheist, 110%

it’s Munich this time
trains race by

causing weird whisps of wind to push me//back&forth&
for a moment i wish back my curls, yet more than anything
i step into a story
knee-deep//hip-high//right//upto–

&amazon says
clicK&
pleaSe choose your deVice&

let’s touch base about this
from the get-go
361 degree//see?
i miss every second stop
&when my eyes give in, i sketch

the business man with a blue tie,
talking Lotus Notes
ina sprinkling-magic voice
the guy across the aisle, reading a mag
his colleague’s eyes
strayed// far out of the window

a “in many ways&not so much strategic” staircase
step by step with endless blistered feet, flesh rubbed raw
from walking to //or from//
&i feel close/ly leverage/d
dizZy from cascading paradigm shifts
existing only in the deep folds of–

i feel her
every word that lays, stitched&bleeding like a quilt
in itching patcHes
‘round my hips

i hate my dad//just for a second
for not loving me the way he should have
how things probably had changed, and i take out my pen
having no words
in me
but lines

and marks to set
one foot before the next
living the values in that space between the cracks
between the throwing overboard
“you can’t move out after you painted everything”

and fill ‘em
looping back//my ice axe forced into the snow, defying gravity
with things i find
along the lines
of tracks that roll their eyes in endless
whispering rows

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for MTB today Tony brings Jargon, Buzzwords and Management-Speak to the pub… so give it a try…? doors open at 3pm EST…

Dear Ms. Bramblebee,

as i write this i sit covered by the night,
yellow, bits and pieces of the sun
&thankful for her light (&shade)
well– there are times when i forget, but—
please excuse

the stains,
ink leaves caterpillar traces on the page
that smile with charcoal eyes
every time i lift the pen//
so funny
makes me joyful in a weird movement of the heart,
a sudden lift

before the fall that dances in my stomach
guess that sounds familiar, doesn’t it?
like rollercoaster rides
(i’m often so afraid..)
this morning on the highway – i forgot my coat at home -
&sang psalms for the warmth
of the electric heating in the car

have i told you?
there are a thousand little sailboats as the water hits the screen
are they real?
i didn’t dare to ask about their harbor
sometimes i’m too shy
or just not fast enough before they’re getting swallowed by the sky

later in the office
(yeah – it didn’t change much til my april letter)
cup of coffee scent &laughter in the space
between whiteboards, copying machine,
computer screen
my colleague’s jokes still made me grin
after hours of typing
(aahhh, i see you smile)

as i ride my bike into the evening
the wind plays with my hair

tsshhHHrrr— psSSHHhtsh— pLinNg

i don’t get tired of listening
&love the way his tousling lips feel on my skin

&even if he’s half a world away //in just a whiff
i’m thankful. really
i’m so thankful

for his friendship

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for MTB today, Bri has us write “Giving Thanks” poems in whatever form you like – maybe as a list poem, letter- or collage poem – just write about the things you’re thankful for… pub doors open at 3pm EST…

i didn’t dare to draw the shades yet

from the ground,
you do not see them //hairline
thin&i climb, paintbrush in my hand
from the ladder to the worktop, balance
on one leg//stretch towards the upper rack,
the kitchen small //below me
raindrops

hit my face, a chilly breeze,
shriek of breaks “oh no”
the piercing whistle of a train

“JjuuUUUMMppppP!!”//

“what ya doing?” she says
“walking onda tracks in such a weather– dänngorousss”

“i lost my brush” i say, rubbing aching elbows
&her head winGs like a pendulum

“are you– i mean—?” trying to sort my bones,
“oh, i’m collecting thoughts” she says
“–but have no answers”

drifting
like a big balloon she smiles
“i was about to paint my kitchen” i say
“on the tracks? how silly”
“oh, there were none when–”
she nods

&night falls thick around us, trees roll
eyes as big as teacups
to the sound of rain

“you’re painting sunsets?” someone wants to know
&i’m not sure but
start in hues of red and gold//waves break
on my face&soundless gliding fishswarms–
ticK
tiCkTocK

i look up

the rain’s stopped
a rustling sound of leaves,
she’s gone, the trees
have shut their eyes, stretching quivering limbs
towards the sky &in their sleep sigh
blowing warm&pine-scent breath
upon me

.

Anthony has us step into a fantasy world a bit over at dVerse today… pub doors will swing open at 3pm EST… and yeah… i was painting the kitchen last saturday…