>’cos ya make me

>at times i
just fall, out
of the blue
and drop -
into you,
there’s danger
to drown, to forget

what’s around
and beyond
sunken seas,
funky bliss
drags me deep
until i

can’t breathe,
until i scream softly,
you glow,
flow perilously low
with lips, spelling
peace, sucking
stormy relief
‘til i sigh, ’til i cry,

get lost in the ponds
of your eyes, drizzling
aqua and white,
watermark life,
gambling high,
trading oxygen for
an ace – lucky streak

& storming cleft peaks,
thousand miles
from the shore,
we’ve outrun
the sun,
diving deeper i
hum in
your froth
(‘cos – ya make me)

>Tubular Bells


there was no music in the air,
not really,
just the sound of a sound
which made me mad 
‘cos i hoped i would find
not sure what but
kept scanning tunes and 
endless minutes nothing 
but highway, agression
and the sense of a drug i didn’t take
and don’t understand, dazing 
emissions fog, 
mingle with sun
and the smell makes me vomit
spring-bound winds 
sneakin’ onto my shoulders,
crawl up my arms and i
need it louder,
force gears, heat up, windows down
and stuck in the middle, 
clueless moves – from and to  
i don’t know and don’t care
when he spells – music, questions
with mellow voice, 
words and more words and
that’s where it starts, 
there it is,
magic, it plays, it is me – again
on the map, out on the street, 
close to the sound and
it made sense again

ok – this was me in the car last week when i drove back home from work, listening to Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells – and yes – i was in a strange mood..

linking up with One Shot Wednesday – and – woo-hoo -  yesterday in NYC we won the Shorty Award in Art.. thanks to all of you for your votes, your support and for being around and making One Stop Poetry what it is!

>Made of spectral white – a Rondel

>when rainbow hazes wrap us in
soft tissues, made of spectral white,
my sense turns liquid, drinkin’ night’s
moist breath, i feel exposed and thin,

take cautious steps towards the rim
and balance on diffusing light
when rainbow hazes wrap us in
soft tissues, made of spectral white

so soar upon cleft edges, spin
and glide, do love me mad and fight
this slipping groove, we reach the height
just as our shapes fade pale and slim
when rainbow hazes wrap us in.

today we’re having part II of our Rondel teaching over at One Stop Poetry. have a look, write a Rondel and join us!
Rondel structure:

>all the way down

>it’s not about spanish tunes, lost 

on the floor, hidden in loops on the carpet,
bouncing back from deaf, tired walls like
boozed soldiers when the battle is won.

it’s about fighting, losing and feeling
black lashes brush soft on pale skin and
letting you kiss me all the way down to the
ground, the earth, the real where it started,
where i get quiet, where i feel your strength

burn my night until i can smell again, until
it tastes right, until it was not, it was never 
anything else but you & me on the floor

in the silence, the dark and getting lost on
your lips with what you call love – and it is.




you’re counting in,
bright colors
flood in streams, run
through your hands,
brush licks

across my face,
you’re on – a beat
there’s no escape,
diving the caves,
filled with the mercy
of your waves,
played hard

and drag me on
vast space, knees
givin’ in, unregulated shake,
riding your lust,
forget the past, suck with
covetous lips,
there is

no handrail
on this bridge
you’ve choked my depths,
awash with tears,
sense fingers
moving fast,

riffs blast,
scorching the night
just scaffolds left,
all flashpoints

give in
to groove-strings,
with yearning,
to pacing drums and
brittle winds,
my clothes
already burning.


it’s OneShotWednesday again and i’m happy to host this week’s poetry party. come, write a poem and join this bunch of amazingly talented people over at One Stop. Sign up opens at 5 pm EST

>your heart’s iambic – a Rondel

>your heart’s iambic all the way
da DUM, da DUM it grooves – you hear
sweet tapping music rolling near?
upon your chest, a tender sway

of rhythmic waves, they flood your bay
wade into you, then disappear
your heart’s iambic all the way
da DUM, da DUM it grooves – you hear

their scuttling feet dance vast astray,
go stressed, unstressed without a fear
tip-toe the beat from then to here
i’ m wrapped inside this rap today
your heart’s iambic all the way

This and next Monday at One Stop Poetry Form, we’re going to have a close look at Rondels – some history – some technical information – some writing tips. Jump over there to read and join us..

>it was more


it was more starting than landing,
don’t you think?
all those years,
feathers to stone,
dipped gently into
gold-soaked midday glow
like biscuits
in hot chocolate

until they almost fall apart
like we  
and with rough tongues
tasting of smooth
and timeless moments,
when history gets wings
and starts with stony lungs
to breathe again.

you’re never ready
for that special time, for
capturing the tender magic
until it’s shot and usually
i find it in your eyes
just when i spread
my wings,
don’t you think
it was more,
it was more starting than landing

this poem is my response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. The prompt was shot by photographer & poet James Rainsford. He is the featured artist today on One Stop Poetry.

free fall

just the two of us were left,
busy hotel breakfast room;
amidst blackberry jam and
scrambled eggs,
you began to talk of passion,

of diving through the sky
which kept you going all those years
when you were struggling
with the illness
because you loved
the falling free while being bound
to something
you could never shake off

around us, people moved – i didn’t
you told me how
her parachute got tangled up,
you knew, there’s not a perfect safety,
but in a way
you never thought it could be real
when she got smashed
before your eyes

my eggs turned cold,
reflections of your pain in lukewarm coffee
and i have never found the words
to bring us back to business, falling dead
as we hit crashed sky



you feed me
on raw fish
when our world’s
upside down,
chaos around,
people drown, small
as bugs in the
while forces of
grow tall and
blossoming cherries bleed,
spilling red, white -
hopes like vomit on
shaking ropes,
will they hold?
sing, sing sakura ‘cos
is just ‘round
the corner
miwatasu kagiri – as far as i can see
kasumi ka kuma ka – like fog, like clouds
descending, tears
blind my eyes,
close to the coast
the giants crack loose
and still
nioi zo izuru – the scent, the colors
of strength in the air
raining rosy,
holding my fear
izaya izaya – let’s go,
let – go,
bow low and pray
for the melting to stop and
you feed me on
‘til I’m silent, ‘til
I know, hana zakari – blossoming time
is close

Sakura – the japanese cherry blossom is one of the most important symbols in japanese culture. It’s an omen of good fortune, new beginnings, beauty and also a metaphor for the fleeting nature of life.

yep – and it’s OneShotWednesday again - come, write a poem and join us or just enjoy to meet a group of amazingly talented people over there. Sign up opens at 5 pm EST

>smoking them silent


they still call you, 
these voices, you say, feeling
hoarse like abrasive belts
thick and full with
their lust
and you never
got rid of that scent
of sweat, of need,
find release
for the pain, insane
when they held you close
to the ground, buried hard
beneath the weight of their grunts,
madness floods,
ejaculates fast until
nothing was left
to deafen that smell
it helps
to burn them slowly, you say
in your mouth – one after one – all
at once, don’t stop ’til you’re at ease, ’til
they burn your lips and glassy blisters
flaming release
until they can’t touch,
until they roll to the edge
until they let go ‘cos
you smoked them low
and supine

This poem is my response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. The prompt was shot by photographer Fee Easton, featured today on One Stop Poetry.