six million

a tiny station &
we’re baking in the sunlight

it is this space
between departing daily
and never getting there,

hitting the road of pain,
camouflaged with gravel, dying
in steel grind of rails,

you’re bleeding–

The afternoon smells dusty
and of red geranium,
decorated rows of silence
on the window sill

we still don’t talk much
cause i know

there are no words
for losing everything.

you live
in endless nightmares,
hands shake when you
take your cup

the trains are crowded &

you vomit all the way,

cooped in like cattle,
and the yellow star,

wrapped tight around their arm
is tattooed in your eyes–

None of them returns

You’re there each night,

each night suffocating,
conscience stabbed
amidst the rattling of the rails,
a rotting rat in oily puddles,

covered with their cries,
the smell of death pulls
on your teeth and knocks you
to the ground,

you’re sinking deeper,

deeper in the dirt

until there’s nothing left

but tears and shame

It is this space
between departing daily

and your hands

still shake


Six million Jews were killed during the NS regime between 1933 – 1945 in my country, the darkest and most guilt-burdened time in German history. I know this is a sensitive topic to touch and i feel small in doing so. This poem is not an accusation in any direction but written with high respect for the jewish nation and also with compassion for those, who were there, silently suffering, terrified and too afraid to help and carrying this guilt for the rest of their life.

Mark Kerstetter put together a deep and thought-provoking Poetics prompt at dVerse Poets Pub…it goes online at 3 pm EST 


no winners left

they say War Will Die
left bleeding
on the side of the street;

dust on blind men’s blades,
still warm and
lips in sneers

They want to sing rosy cheeked
kids to sleep before
darkness reaches them

and the scent of steel still
on their tongues as they
lick their way up her
thighs to drink to life, to

shut out the swords, the spears,
the coughed blood and
the – he didn’t make it…

They greedily gulp
humid warmth, suck
parted lips, tasting freedom and

See the trenches in her softness
There are no
winners left

..woo hoo it’s One Shot Wednesday again and the wonderful Adam Dustus will be your host tonight…write a poem and join us or just jump over to read what some fine poets brought to the table..sign up opens at 5 pm EST

>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.


>i meet you during lunch-break promenades
you walk your black dog along snowy fields, you’re
blind and I stop singing silent songs for fear

my voice would give away what’s deeply hidden,
well concealed. you’ll hear my steps, deflowering
earthy ground and somehow, as we pass, i

feel like empty jars, all fragile, nude with heavy
drops of red wine stealing, running, trickling
down curved glasses, mingled joy with sticky lip gloss

love-mad saliva – deposits and relics, smelling
of a time before fierce droughts would hit my land, when
i got drunk on lovers juices, inhaling tears,

afraid my voice, my breath, the way i step on
snowy ground would soon reveal what was forgotten and
untouched, invisible. and you may hear & feel & sense

the shadows of my soul like blurred past dirty mirrors  
fleeting crash-ice towards spring-bound hopes,
all broken, scattered flowerseeds, entwined & caught

in barren branches, buried, drowned in endless darkened
aisles and winding up and down my veins – cardiologic
beating, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing as you pass

(and from your smile i know you saw me..)

this is my entry for One Shot Wednesday over at  One Stop Poetry – join us, write a poem or just jump over to read others. Sign up opens today at 12 noon EST – a bit earlier than usual because of the holidays and because it’s the last One Shot to link up your poem for the One Stop Anthology – a collection of “Best of One Shot – the first six months”, published under Limited Editions Press

>i see you


i hear your song as i
pass by. a melody,
never sung; swallowed
by life’s traffic like garbage
in a waste press. broken
dream dirge, carried away
on exhaust gases; and
shattered hope beat, melting
in greasy circles into
the rush hour before it
gets lost somewhere
in a busy crowd.

Linking up with one shoot sunday @ One Stop Poetry

Photo credit: Ed Yourdon