365

Meeting at midnite, we watch twitching
flashs scratch bright-red lacquered nails
into a years-end sky,

up_PIng the ante, we rise,
lean tight towards a future– grace,
spin blue dreams scarlet ’round
the globe-wheel’s twisted ankles, pebbles
turn to rubies in your mouth, “there’s
no easy answer” you say, hushed,

eyes close(d), bent atop my breasts
& with your tongue paint floating contrails
on my skin, uncaging dragonflies to dance
upon the molded walls— &

you smile silver as if not afraid
of frozen lakes, free fall & battlefields,
stained crimson with our blood, the
scent of death still wrapped around,

we run– time-bound, wingless, feed

our fireworks with bursting glass & splints of
guilt cut bleeding trails across our forehead,

& with lips, torn open from the frost, i lick
bustling bubbles of champagne, dripping
sweet and sparkling from your pores,

just like someone,
summoned from the eye of night, sips—
on tomorrow

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over at dVerse we’re going to have a bit of a new year’s poetry party tonight and mark kerstetter is the man behind the bar –  if you got time…swing by at 3pm EST for a glass of champagne and a new year’s hug..

Poetry slam at the River journal – my entry: Leaving Rome

Over at the River journal, poets from all around the world will raise their poetic voices today to gather in a Year’s end poetry slam.. woohoo!!! the fun starts at 12pm CST and ends December 31st at 12pm CST.

So here’s my contribution – my poem “Leaving Rome”, spoken by me (beware of the german accent…smiles)
Beat by Dj BloxX..

Click HERE to listen to me reading “Leaving Rome”

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You want to join the fun? Find all the details HERE…

inter-galactic battles v/s wor(l)ds that fall apart

 

i’m in the middle of a star wars fight,
laptop on my knees, drinking fennel tea and
feeling slightly independent (it won’t last that long,
so i cherish the illusion) &

keep staring at the creature,
dangling from the window on a golden ribbon,
(they have no ideas how angels look) &

maybe this is fussy but it bothers me,

i watch the angel dangle,
close my eyes, look again and–

in the space where christmas ends
and life has not yet swallowed me,
i dive into black holes & it’s not easy
to escape– folding month by month

like garments, full of stains,
heavily used and do my best to smooth ‘em,
hide their dirty spots under my hands,
it’s useless–

and the letters falls apart, i try hard

to glue ‘em back together, shift
the words and hold them on the screen with
silver ribbon rests, but there are poems,
way too difficult to write & finally
i let it glide onto the floor,
take a broom & sweep

its tiny particles under the couch,
together with the angel, i cut from the
window frame– may the force
be with you &

maybe, by the season’s end,
someone finds ‘em both but–

it could be too late then

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no matter which universe you’re from, you’re more than welcome to join us with your poetry at dVerse Poets pub at 3 pm EST…and may the force be with joe hesch who will tend the bar for us tonight..

2nd christmas day at 6 a.m.

i hear your rumors in the kitchen,
early second christmas day
& i peel out of bed to join you,

we sit in the half dark, just one random light,
enough that you can see your oat flakes,

snowboard, boots,
all standing in the floor already,
he’ll pick you up in a few minutes &
in january he will go abroad and
drive a panzer, not in war though,

still it hits me unprepared,
“it’s no fun driving a panzer”
“yes” you say, you know,

“he was on all these camps
and should be well prepared”– i think
you never are

we check the weather,
Engelberg is sun and snow, i kiss you
and you smile “don’t wake dad when
you go back to bed”

but i do and know–
he doesn’t mind

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a conversation with my 19 year old son this morning..

an almost made up story

 

i met him in the mall on christmas eve,
& i was sitting on a bench because my shopping patience
lasts a maximum of thirty minutes

i confess, he didn’t look as i expected,
rather simple – jeans and sweater
and we started talking – just the everyday
like weather and the crazy traffic, weakness of the euro,

no, there was no revelation, just his eyes,
intelligent and warm – though it’s not about
intelligence he said “you see him over there?”

i realized i don’t see as much as i would love to–
and some things i just don’t want to see at all,

so have you ever met a man and knew immediately
how it would be to love him? or you think you–

a small boy ran towards us, shouting
“mama, look who’s sitting over there” &
like a beam of smiles he crossed the floor, climbed
on his lap, whispering into his ear,

i looked at him again, his sport shoes, jeans & –

we sat side by side, watching passersby with
joy, fatigue and sorrow spun in cobwebs on their face,
and he listened like someone who cared,

it was already dark when i walked home, the christmas tree,
(three meter something) sparkled in the shop panes
& the first snow swallowed
the soft clip – clap of my steps

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Wishing you all a merry Christmas.. 

contrasts on a frozen surface

the contrast between life and death
is ice and winter melting into spring,
& scandinavian patterns fall apart
each time i hear that Bowie song, playing
on the day we met on Basle ice rink,

we talked knitting patterns, crazy
as it sounds, i thought it was a nice approach,
we never fell in love though–
just held hands when we played tag in pairs
with all the others, yet–

on days without you,
life looked dull and,
skating ‘cross the ice,
i kept searching for the trails
you left the other week

it was the season’s end and i still see
the terror in your eyes, she was

just thirteen & the scent of death
swam like an oil film in the puddles at our feet,

an early spring-sun tried to warm our backs as
we sat on the boards, heads bent—

& all we did was–
hacking tiny holes
into a frozen surface

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over at dVerse, Victoria has a finely textured Meeting the Bar article waiting for us at 3pm EST…be sure to swing by to get some valuable input on contrast in poems


After the party

think i prefer urban ugliness
to sunsets over candy-coated landscapes,
mainly because it feels familiar and it fits
the stage i‘m in, a life pinned
to a fallen world, wearing borrowed dresses &

i leave the christmas party late– in the bagnio
opposite the road, peak period, they try
to buy what you can‘t really sell and
in the clouds, blown into night air i

still see them, even if it’s hours back,
eight hundred employees, giving tribute to
the founder’s widow, sitting small & humble
in a wheelchair and i‘m close enough to
see her tears, maybe she‘d love to
trade our long applause for a ride back
on the time machine, to the moment
when their eight child started walking,
the first kiss or when he said, he’d start
this business, brought her scarlet roses
& i’m wondering

how many of the real important things
in life happen on stages or in board rooms,
parliaments and wars– and how much in the
places no one sees except the actors,
lying bent into each other– passing

empty windows, nightly roads shine winter wet,
my feet hurt badly from the heels i wear, one hand
on my sax, the other on the steering wheel,
(just metaphorically) i am frozen to the core

& reaching home i find a yellow post it on
the bedroom door, saying „you can wake me
if you want“,  i pause a second– & again i see
her eyes, empires built with blood & sweat
on human flesh, then

slowly let my coat glide to the floor,
place the sax case next to it, countless threads
weave odd, unordered patterns in my head and
stepping from the shade, i cautiously undress
into his warmth

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smiles.. i was really wearing a borrowed dress…had no time to go shopping because of hours & hours of practicing the sax – so i asked my daughter…smiles.. well poets…it’s OpenLinkNight again at dVersePoets - the time when we blow our poetry like sax tunes all over the place… join us at 3pm EST – joy ann jones aka hedgewitch will be tending the bar tonight