Brighton androgynous

.
she is androgynous,
and suddenly i understand that word,
proud and pale she walks the lanes
like whorehouse owners– still

i feel her femininity, ache
to gain her trust and want to
lie with her under a feather blanket,
wondering if she‘s man enough
to fuck me– or

we’ll sit and drink,
strictly behaving unisex, hide
deep behind our poetry &
dressed in latex boots, suspenders and
pink plastic corsets,
spit the growing night unto us–

either way is fine

i observed her on the beach,
putting herself onto the waves,
next to the west pier skeleton
and back comes seasick fun fair shrieks,
carried by the wind and damp
with longing to move on–

this is why i‘m here,

lying in this tiny room
of a victorian mansion house,
drinking red wine off the bottle
and she’s slipped her hand
under my flower print pajama,

when i close my eyes, i hear the sea &

like a slut with broken legs,
she‘s woven gold strings in her hair–

and her lovers lick her empty

.

so this is how this city feels to me after my first day here in brighton..walked the beach for hours yesterday and tried to get to know her a bit…smiles..the “slut with broken legs” refers to the West Pier Skeleton (above pic)
linking up with dVerse OpenLinkNight, hosted today by a marvelous Natasha Head..gates will swing open 3pm EST

Flight EZS8430 to London

we are delayed,
i’m squished between
a german business man
in flawless gray and white
and an indian mama

she’s fat and smells of cardamom,
our arms touch ‘cross the borders, i dont mind
cause she feels warm
& i would love to offer her a mint against
the constant coughing

but there’s nothing within reach,
not even confidence

descending into fog,
the gray & white guy helps me with my luggage,
first and last time that i see him smile
the indian mama never did–
me neither

as i board the train to brighton,
the weather’s english
and i thought i am prepared
and yet–
i’m not
.

wrote this while sitting in the train to brighton for a few days of off-time, wind and sea.. and obviously.. fog.. arrived now and heading out to get familiar with the town.. smiles

>thirsty for life

>bowing low

next to B3, the road

which runs 

from south to north, north to south

without ever breathing 

or sighing or loving those who travel it. 

he, grey hair, back bent in sorrow,

flowers in hand, small cross

morning, mourning

rips my heart raw, bloody

as we pass, blowing

fourteen meters swaying wind into his face, 

then leaving him alone again,

touching concrete grief for seconds, wish

i knew the story

wish i could – hold him close,

laying down

blossoms of sadness, of hope

for the people i’ve lost on my way

to speed, to carelessness & lovelessness,

toss the driver from his seat, take

the steering wheel & turn on the wipers, erase the tears,

tears welling up like mean dwarves

and i long

for petals raining down,

for a cross to bow before and

an arm, wrapped ’round my heart,

telling it there’s a new road,

another north to south, an

east to west and a hope

to find what gets lost

so easy at the side

of madness-covered routes

and i’m breathing, breathing tears and their taste, 

salt on my lips

makes me thirsty for life

linking up with One Shot Wednesday - and i’m still on the road, still traveling – but will try to comment back by the end of the week…

>frankfurt airport hotel lobby

>brown leather and the sound of trolleys
on the stone floor
where you come from and where
you go – it doesn’t matter – really, you’re
a name in an endless stream with a
fitting number,
hitting the keys, observing

the blonde with the heels, the long
haired guy, they’re in love – he touches
her in places – right and thinks that
no one sees, i do, but i’m invisible behind a
screen, belonging to another world,
another life, time-less, i’m bored,
prepared, i’m sherlock holmes,

the guy from the reception smiles. is
everything – ok – of course, there’s music
from afar, my feet tap “hotel
california” heaven, hell and all that’s
in between, the guitar makes me sigh ‘cos
there’s always a flight to be on and
always a flight to miss, yeah
he looks – american – he is, checks
in and out and disappears like he has never
lived and my notebook is warm
on my thighs

yeah – i’m on  a business trip and probably need some time for the commenting back…see you..

>she’s an artist, ya know

>

Photo: Feininger, Andreas, 1906-1999, photographer

she’s an artist, ya know, sitting
next to you in the car and how
could the landscape only be blue

gritty or beautiful. no it
whispers with raw silence &
empties its barren soil on

your shoulder til you feel
coolness melting in circles on
skin and with the snowflakes

you fall (without even jumping)
into small crystalline dots.
she’s a poet, ya know and

her neck seems to have just
the right size when streetblues
swarms on her and, with one

foot on the brake, guess what
you want is much more than
freedom on silent roads and

wide wells of snow dusted
canyons and being glued to
rough lips, seeing beauty before

spring would come. you’ve
just no clue how to ever find
mapping words for driving
this lonely road ahead

this was written for the one shoot sunday picture prompt over at One Stop Poetry – wanna join us..? 

>Reflections on Sydney

>

i was no tourist – i was on business

one month in our company’s Sydney office

one month sharing by choice 

kitchen, two bathrooms and life with 30 people

close to Sydney university

instead of staying isolated in a business hotel

one month of crossing harbour bridge on my way to work

worship in hillsong church

connecting to people i have never seen before like they were old friends

after-work ice cream at darling harbor 

always listening to the sound of the city

to the countless stories, it has to tell

the whispering of a lover or heaps of malarky you can’t believe?

a city that tries to seduce you with it’s taste of freedom

and covers your heart with fresh ocean waves

sunday lunch at sydney fish market

ferry to manly – endless beach walks

envying the giraffes at taronga zoo for their breath-taking view of sydney opera house

colleagues at work that included me from the very first minute

drinking in the spirit of a city i fell in love with at first sight

and felt at home the moment i arrived

after 36 hours of traveling

hardly able to keep my eyes open

but what i saw and what i felt between half-closed eyes

was enough to inflame my passion and touch my soul

with small paws of eucalyptus breathing koala bears

which are indeed the only animals that have and leave their fingerprints

…you can detect lots of them … right on my heart…

check out the word of the week “malarky” at…

>On sad lions and foggy mountain tops

>

“I never saw such a sad rock” said Mark Twain when visiting the Lions Monument in Lucerne,
which is a memorial of the Tuileriensturm on the 10th of August 1792.

We were there yesterday with a group of customers from the Czech Republic and I was overwhelmed (as always) when I saw this strong lion, pierced and fallen like the Swiss soldiers during this fight.
No more words needed – I think that’s the most expressive war memorial, I have ever seen.

We had a Guided Tour in Lucerne (in czech language…), were visiting the chappel bridge with its beautiful paintings, had a nice Mischtchratzerli for lunch at the Zunfthaus zu Pfistern and then went to Vitznau and uphill to Rigi Kulm – but it was so foggy, we had no view at all – unfortunately.

So Dalibor, do you prefer the fog on Mount Titlis or the fog on Mount Rigi….?

Halfway down the mountain again – there is a lovely Gasthaus, called Heinrichshütte, where we spent the evening, having Fondue chinoise, Swiss beer and lots of fun while listening to the group – singing all kinds of Czech (and russian) folk songs and ending
the evening with the national hymn of the Czech
republic, everyone standing upright, hands to their hearts.
So – what a lovely day – driving back home – some of the guests still singing (they seem to know thousands of songs….) and me fighting sleep in vain…