Pastures, fields and neighbourhoods
along the long serpent -
the river that connects everything

the spine of the patches
Hemed on the other side
with piles of triangles -

bare ridges, scratched
with wide and empty roads
to one another

Mount Wind is rising above
and much, much higher still
a light line limits the tapestry of fields

Spring, and it's still snowing
above the little ant-people
How fast they live

Twice as high: the heavenly
white strip that unassailable
hovers over everything

Only then the ever blue sky
in which I let me fly, safe
beneath eternity

In soft winter light
it is easy
to live on the country

Work, rest, and be at home
The harmony of exterior
sounds and scents

A distant horizon
High silver traces
dissolving in the sky

After the harvest
do less
talk less

and breathe
more, with the soughing
and rustling of the wind

Are there poems to rewrite
about the crater edge of states
around black holes

and the pulsation of the big bang
now that Verlinde has given
his explanation of the old
esoteric knowledge

that yang only exists
as inner backside of yin, not being
an autonomous phenomenon

but a measurable illusion
of mass, shaped
by information
that wants to remain

complete as it is
not even for a quantum willing to change
not because something would be lost

but because something would change
its place, something the information wants
to keep with all its weight
pulling it back with all its gravity

for continually flowing and mixing
it would be amorphous
without temporary stability

even without time, only a
spatial nothing, an
ever, a
duration

The canal is green today
grey in the evening twilight
the precolour of winter

Running engines, winter coats and
heat lamps, little red spots
on the skin of the city

We want to vibrate
not repose with the supplies
We bring light and green into our homes

into the insides
of our existence
an eager feeling

no boredom, no tardy time
no long fixed hours
in the low sun's sidelight

We make plans in autumn
we clean up in spring
we repose in summer

Complementary to the season
we feel that we are alive
An eager feeling

Trailing behind
my long shadow, early in the day

I am expected
they know me

There is work to do, to discuss
and between the words

I want to embrace
my colleagues in my mind

We are going together
but we're not going

anywhere
and that's okay

Enough is enough
We tie a bow around the old
year and share wishes

don't think too much
of days to come
because your feet will always stand in the present

happy to be
with our neighbours
at home where we live

nothing special
everything just
good

enough

As a child you learn so much:
from whipped cream to silverfishes
to be sick and to get well

what is tough, what is dirty
where the fixed spots
are in the whizz

of the grown-ups
and to clean up the toys
you'll need again tomorrow

how long a year is (nine haircuts)
and that you have to sneeze
from hair and tangerines

you learn what tickling is, what
thumb-writing and your favourite colour
is, and maybe even Mikado patience

you swim through the streets
of the planted woods
ahead of dad and mum

there are beetles, tractors and trains
elf-rorquals, wasps' nests
sheepskin and rubber tiles

you learn to get up again
and to walk away
from mum when she asks

it goes?, of course
it goes
by

95 or over 22 years
ago, which is the longest time?
Since his birth or since his death?

Two eternities, elusive
as air, moves along with me
and envelop me, always

time connects me to everything
that I am not, time is
the invisible web
in which I live

on which I stick
with my appearances
which I leave behind
like old skin

when transforming again and again
from time, which layer by layer
makes me live, and layer by layer
consumes me

Nothing important happened
today, we were Far Out

sitting on a beach terrace – space
sun on me, wind on me, free

experiencing the world and myself
comprehending a gull, its attention

to fried fish, in the blink of an eye
feeling the somersault of the surfer

in the distance in my blood
breathing people in and out

cartwheels through my body
and windmills on the horizon

the moving and changing
in variations of the same, no reason

for sickening emotions
Could I have learned this sooner

could my brain have been different
or wouldn't I have been human then?

Behind the tears between my heart
and my head, love is shining
inexhaustible, I think

The clouds are just knots
and with rain there is love
pouring, because it's the time

of Aquarius, the sun
of kind people shines
in my heart, my open heart

I don't fly, I am
strong because I have become
so and that makes me

beautiful, you say with the seal
of the giving moon
and the all-receiving

sun on your heart, yes like you
see me, I want to be, a flower
in our season

Watching films
at the end of the year:
how it can be, how it should be
and, at home, not is?

Plenty of examples!
I am searching and finding
people and friends
I need

including myself -
in their feelings, and their need
for me, that's how we remain
stuck to each other

celebrating
the happiness
that bleeds from our hearts
and mingles

Only noticed in a small circle
and even so
not quite for who you are

and what you are able to, almost unneeded
unfortunately that is common
Time keeps going by

and later, life forgets
everyone and everything that was known
and then there is no difference anymore

Celebrity is a lie
pinned on a beacon
It does not matter

but sometimes you sit around doing nothing
and you feel that it is a pity
for your children, your friends and society

that you're not of more importance
or leave behind more
Time keeps going by

and life forgets what has been

Reassuring yourself by silencing
others with statements
about life: your only certainty

Maybe there is more, should we
prepare ourselves, ignorant
of what, except for that
meaningless dying

as if that were our goal
or the outcome of our life
as if

the animals and plants that live
to live and otherwise would not
exist, do not matter

Once, it stops, apparently
there is no beginning without an end
and predestined we flutter on
like flailing summer birds

I wandered through the village
in the woods of densely formed trunks
and I was told that it is not a forest

but a tree, I drank sweet tea
under the tied up aerial roots
and the thick foliage above it

The woman I spoke to, laughed
at my wonder and took my hand
She led me to the middle

where our surrender embraced the trunk
which was too thick for four outstretched arms
The red ribbons touched our head

Back on the terrace on the edge
where the young trunks in the lake
form a living canopy

we saw a flight of parrots
The birds were shouting at us
No Hurry, they yelled every time

when they passed in the bright colours
of their message: No Hurry!
Be Wappy!

The disgusting drink is working
clouds of patchouli lift me up
and my cloak is left behind

Hypnotised, caressed
by downy hair of sheep's wool
I dream of floating heavily

up to dancing hands
and it doesn't bother me what
thoughts of lust you secretly

smear over my skin
You may watch, even touch
me where it is not allowed

I am safe in the bubble
of confidence that I have
blown around my nerves

The synagogue was a horse stable
of the army, now the white is white
and gold again, a romantic house
of prayer in Catholic colours

Money and keys go in
separately from us
The control gates bleep, but
everyone is allowed to go through

though the men have to go aside
past the guest table
to take a kippah
The women are free

reverent by nature
even with wild red hair
and shining pins -
a symphony of life

on the edge of the holy
behind the black curtain

The mystery of floating
ships, the river, heron
crow, magpie, Senex and Safinur

open line, nostalgia
for good manners
radio silence, absent

in the café, draft in the room
wood of the balcony, album page
behind glass, new laces

the trouser-flapped man
from the village, one of us
life itself, where I still am

Bury one another for surrender
to a kiss

run away on high buttocks
to become smooth again in the sea

secretly feeling sensations
for which there are no words

learning the natural
language of love

which is never boring, never strays
and always knows how to proceed

where there are obstacles
cramp in my calf

Naked with you
in the dunes

if we are happy, because
even though the world should be better
you can still be happy there

if the people around you are happy
including the grandads and grandmas
abroad

Yes, we are happy
the neighbours do argue sometimes
but when we lie awake
we do so in peace

We have breakfast and we take a walk
it doesn't have to be special
what you experience together

Grief cannot be avoided
but we do not suffer pain
and are not humiliated

We have time for the splendour
of the trees, music, so much
that helps us on the days
when the sun is not shining

Slowly the bell is ringing
slowly the donkeys move on
under black blankets

The covered coach is high
Up is Up and Down is Down
Crying, we carry the long train
through the circus, we change
hats, unroll the will
and stop for a group portrait

Life goes on, under drum rolls
the coach moves around, faster
and faster, hunted
by the music and salute shots
from the tuba, smoke, and fire everywhere
the fire truck comes in

Champagne and applause
We swing through the serpentines
until the light goes out

I hear my own voice
it echoes where I live
in the lap of the mountains

I can clump, I can swing
I can jump, I can sing
out loud to you

Hip hip hipperthepip
hop hop hopperthepop
lovelylovelylottelot

Are you coming knockertheknock
for another clickertheclack
with me this afternoon?

Hip hip hipperthepip
hop hop hopperthepop
lovelylovelylottelot

We clump and we jump
we swing and we sing
hopperthepop, hop, hop

Most people walk past
At best they think: can't this be better
can't this colouring in boxes
also be done by a child -

practice a few times
to fill them in solidly, without scratches
and to stay within the lines, but did they
ever sit down for it themselves?

Dot they remember what it feels like?
That you are completely absorbed in it
that time stands still and everything
feels good, that you know

well, can't I? Yes
I can do this too!

Delighted, with your eyes closed
sniffing up the cherry blossoms
in the street, humming along
to the cheerful birdsong

oh, lifelike dreams
of happiness, dear, dear
girl curled up in pillows
when it storms

Until late at night
full in wonder
and full of expectation
up again, looking forward

to the embraces
of the new day
and your whole body
shines

May the dead rest in peace
we say, the rest
of dreamless sleep

in the afterlife
of limbo
during the tedious wait
for the thereafterlife
of heaven

Perhaps that is
purgatory: idleness
till eternity, Amen

May the dead rest in peace
we say, the unrest
of our memory
which knows it is too late
to undo what has been done

Perhaps that is
life: being restless
until death

I sing this song, I sing it out
I drum, I jump, I dance and shout
Hey, who of you joins in, who's in the mood?
Come, cook and eat, discuss the days
and break the silence with hoorays
it will be fun together as it should

That's what life is, That's what life is
That's what life is, That's what life is

     You want it all, you think you might
     succeed, why, isn't it your right?
     So, on the chosen path you chase ahead
     but life goes on and bounces back
     it traps you in a dead end track
     (and there the order will be shed)

If only I could pull the strings
and not were short of many things
for everything I wanted to pass on
I learn a lot, it doesn't stop
my wisdom is among the top
but I'm retired, my influence is gone

     There is a human need to touch
     so do love him and her as much
     and growing old you may learn to play
     You do your best, you are a friend
     but good things also have their end
     (and loved ones also pass away)

Peace, in a bed
in Amsterdam, kneeling
or with clenched fists

eternally awaited, preserved
in hearts and thoughts
about people who behave
differently than you wish
people who have to take care

of their well-being and can
only dream their visions
cannot realise these even
with combined efforts
The world is too big for that

Close by you can smell the wind
and go along with the seasons
Close by you can, within
the limits of your needs
safely open up to another

Spring owes its good reputation
to the beautiful days, which you usually
have to wait a long time for

It's necessary for agriculture
I used to think, although
I wished to play outside

I am not getting over it
The platform reflects grey
the sky, the rain

drops don't splash there
but against my coat they do
flurried from the baby clouds

that are dancing around me
a consolation to watch
while I wait for the train

for a trip I want to make
anyhow to get out
of this weather