helicopters

falling from the trees,
we let them spin and drift
like sailors, drunk with gin,
watched them circling
towards the tongue of the river,
then.. disappear

faces hot with sweat
and dreams of the real ones,
smelling of big adventure,
Platoon – Apocalypse Now
and named Cobra,
Black Shark or Mangusta

They would take us
to places we saw on tv with
bold men fighting for what
we hoped was right and
all afternoon, dirty hands and

scratched hearts we let them
fall and fall until the sun came down
and our knees started bleeding

until the rotors spun in our heads
until we were almost there and
until the trees had lost all their seeds

linking up with emily at imperfect prose..

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>play me

>i want you
to play
me
but first
know what
instrument
you are
dealing
with i want to
be
blown
into have
no
strings so
play me in the
                            right
way touch
me soft 
as i
like to
be
touched skillful
thought
full
whole with
respect i
want
to feel you
play and your
lips and
your
hands at all
that
places tongue
kissed at
what feels
                             right
don’t
play with
but 
play
me skillful
bold versed and
feel
me long
for
you don’t
make
me sound a
way i am
not
build for
you know
my
range and
the
room is
for sub-
and over the
top
tones
and bound
less so do
melt in
to me
slowly come
close
prove
what
you want and
how to get
me and
make
me
sing and
play
me i
will
respond

Written for One Shot Wednesday and  Emily’s Imperfect prose on thursdays

>the ride

>i gave you a lift on my windscreen,
uninvited. you just jumped on when i
was waiting for the traffic light to get green

and as i drove you across swiss highways
vulnerable and exposed to the wind and the
rain, that hit the screen. i didn’t turn on the
wipers – your fragile look made me wanna
protect you

and i wondered if you’d make it
(the swiss police wouldn’t accept
a grasshopper as an excuse for a
stop on the hard shoulder..)
but when i arrived at my workplace
you were still there, still moving, still
alive… and you waved good-bye with
your antennae… and disappeared…

would’ve loved if you had also joined
me at my desk… to make my day
a bit greener…

I’m linking up today with Emily’s Imperfect prose on thursdays  – jump over and have a look what others were writing..

>love letters

>

love him most when he smells of metal
and has oil-stained hands….

i don’t write you love letters
’cause you’re not a reader
and even if they mean a lot to me
they may not mean the same to you

i try & use the language of love
you speak & enjoy
sometimes a foreign one..
and if my letters make it to your heart
and if you don’t return ’em to sender
it makes my day

this was written for g-man‘s friday flash 55
and Emily’s imperfect prose on thursdays