Category: Poems


You’re Sorry?

Blame!²

Blame!² (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I am not to blame.
I am not at fault,
merely unacceptable,
weighed and found wanting.

But above all I mustn’t fret,
be an adult about all this.

Simply not good enough.
Maybe too tall or short,
too fat or thin, perhaps
just the wrong colour skin.

But definitely wrong for you,
whatever I did or do…
Heart ripped to shreds?
Go take some happy meds!

And for no-fuck’s sake,
do be a man about it.
No, I shouldn’t worry.
Yes, of course you’re sorry.

And above all I mustn’t fret,
be an adult about feeling dead…

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To A STRANGER.

English: Walt Whitman. Library of Congress des...

by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

ASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
Note from Ralphie: I have felt like this a million times.

Blood.

English: This pic is date 1933 of my dad mom a...

English: This pic is date 1933 of my dad mom and dad from the old county(not Ralphie’s!) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My wanderlust is acting up again,

but alas I shall have to stay,

for my folks are set to go away.

Go away for good to somewhere better.

 

My gypsy soul is getting restless,

but my duty keeps me here.

Filial love is not mere words.

Mom and Dad, you need not fear!

 

My heart belongs in foreign soil.

This dreary country drags me down,

but stay I shall until the curtain call,

for blood is always thicker than water.

Children of the Wind II

The Flute Player

The Flute Player (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Thrumming echos in the night.

Pulsating dots of bright red light.

Kindred spirits searching, yearning,

longing, hoping to connect.

Their need to share the joy,

the wonder and love blatantly obvious,

but ignored by the blinkered, the harnessed.

Oppression of the soul, a disease of our times,

withers the Children of the Wind.

Winter of Man is upon us!

Let us pray for the spring…

 

 

 

Children of the Wind I

North America and Pelican Nebulae (narrowband)

North America and Pelican Nebulae (narrowband) (Photo credit: DJMcCrady)

Children of the Wind

ethereal and elusive.

Bright stars of spirit essence

spiralling around their kin,

feeding, nurturing, caring…

caring way too much.

Aching for humanity

for misbehaving badly.

Such frail shoulders

to carry all that weight.

Scattered by their Father

to the four corners.

Where will they land?

Mind

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Modern books

Turn This Thing OnA book, I think, is very like
A little golden door
That takes me into places
Where I’ve never been before.

It leads me into fairyland
Or countries strange and far
And, best of all, the golden door
Always stands ajar.

no title

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Some very nice people came to look at me one time.
They petted me and took me for a walk!
I was so sure. But they went away.
They said I was too old.
I wonder what that means.

Dawn in Upper Egypt

giza101
The feet of the Gods are but half withdrawn;
The Colour fringes their garments’ hem,
And the stones of the desert remember them.

Where the white mists enfold each hill
Lingers their brooding presence still;
Still, though the glory of Thebes be done,
The twin Colossi salute the sun.

Lure on lure at the break of morn
The earth lies fair as the earth was born,
And the old Gods walk in the mist and the dew
Of an ancient splendour for ever new.

Books, words, wisdom

boekenwijsheid

Paper, ink and thought
Fiction and reality
Passion and purpose
Poetry and prose
Map and drawing

Monographs and periodicals
Card catalog and bar code

Reading and research
Pleasure and knowledge
Wonder of language,
The power of words.

Books create
the wise man,
they educate
the sage;
the erudite
strops his
intellect
with the turn
of every
page.

wis

I’ve learned that no matter what happens,
or how bad it seems today, life does go on,
and it will be better tomorrow.

I’ve learned that people will forget what you said,
people will forget what you did,
but people will never forget how you made them feel.

I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person
by the way he or she handles these three things:
a rainy day, lost luggage,
and tangled Christmas tree lights.

I’ve learned that regardless of the differences
you have with the people in your life,
you’ll miss them when they’re gone.

I’ve learned that making a “living”
is not the same thing as making a “life.”

I’ve learned that life sometimes
gives you a second chance.

I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life
with a catcher’s mitt on both hands.
You need to be able to throw something back.

I’ve learned that if you pursue happiness,
it will elude you.

But if you focus on your family, your friends,
the needs of others,your work and doing the very best you can,
happiness will find you.

I’ve learned that whenever I decide something
with an open heart,
I usually make the right decision.

I’ve learned that even when I have pains,
I don’t have to be one.

I’ve learned that every day you should
reach out and touch someone.
People love that human touch –
holding hands, a warm hug,
or just a friendly pat on the back.

I’ve learned that you should
pass this on to someone you care about.
Sometimes they just need a little something
to make them smile.

I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn.

to my kids

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I can read in red. I can read in blue.
I can read in pickle color too.
I can read in bed, and in purple. and in brown.
I can read in a circle and upside down!
I can read with my left eye. I can read with my right.
I can read Mississippi with my eyes shut tight!

There are so many things you can learn about.
But…you’ll miss the best things
If you keep your eyes shut.
The more that you read, the more things you will know
The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.

If you read with your eyes shut you’re likely to find
That the place where you’re going is far, far behind
SO…that’s why I tell you to keep your eyes wide.
Keep them wide open…at least on one side.

Time Paradox.

English: paradox Polski: paradox

I am not

I never was

I will be

forever changing

Brush With Death.

Time narrows,
focus pointing
at life,
avoiding
Death.

Deflect and
STRIKE!
to paralyse,
nullify
the threat.

Hearing, sight
and smell
plop back
into being.

I breathe again,
alive
still,
but shaken.

Mute Scream.

One of several versions of the painting "...

One of several versions of the painting “The Scream”. The National Gallery, Oslo, Norway. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Stormy silence,
fear smells its victims.
Who will be the sacrifice?

Outside of nature,
undreamable silence,
because…
life sparkles, sizzles and whistles,
even from before the abc
and blind to the consequences.

My silence shrieks!
No-one hears
that wordless scream,
but me,
the victim
found.

Battle of the Elements.

Rock Crystal Crozier

Rock Crystal Crozier (Photo credit: greyloch)

Spring longing fast forwards
to a gentler chiming clime,
but freeze frame locks.
stiff-necked and stubborn cold.

Crystal time digs in,
shattering the Sun-dream.
Daisies wrap their eager heads
can hide in winter’s coat.

Warm-air cloud battles North wind,
molecular war ensues.
Earth dons thick white blankets
to cushion the angry blows.

Flummuxablitiy.

English: Scales (2) Climbing up out of the mis...

English: Scales (2) Climbing up out of the mist hanging over Buttermere reveals views unimaginable half an hour earlier. Looking towards Robinson with High Snockrigg in front. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In the heat of silence
mute poetry is borne,
wrought from raw emotion
transmuted into verse.

From the eye of the tempest
springs a colour river,
too bright for mortal eyes,
a canvas for the gods.

An abyss under the sea,
deeper than you or me,
houses spectral shadow beings,
that never see the light.

In the unlikeliest of places
otherworldly beauty shines,
defying unimaginable odds,
an enigma in and to itself.

The Land Of Nonsense.

English: Logo of No Nonsense

English: Logo of No Nonsense (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Rows of flapping hands,
like flags of friendship.
Metal-slamming breaking
for throwaway compliments.

Does a ‘Congratulations!’
have the right of way?
Sing Sing for hypocrites
with fashionable bars of paper.

Love scales for sale,
for more-than-thou fanatics
and honesty meters for
brokers of cheap words.
Care to blow the whistle, Sir?

Pomposity warning!
Citizens, cover your ears.

I, Valen-thine.

Back to front,
a dreamy cuddle
in memoriam
of various kissed parts.

Subconscious pieces
of a half-absorbed puzzle,
when things still made sense,
a heart-felt kind of logic.

The now empty hand
still feels the touch
from before the lovequake,
the aftershock remains.

My Love For You Is Relative!

Rub' al Khali

Rub’ al Khali (Photo credit: Felix Neiss)

Relatively small compared to the vastness of the universe,
but big compared to a mere ocean.
Relatively short compared to the ends of time,
though long compared to the brevity of my life.
Relatively shallow comparing the minuteness of my being with God’s infinity.
Relatively deep compared to Man’s insatiable quest for knowledge.
Relatively cold compared to the seething side of the Sun
and hot compared to the Rub’ al Khali.
My love is how it is, like me, unfathomable, enigmatic and completely yours.

Graffiti From The gods.

Phoenix Arizona Lightning Thunderstorm Lightni...

Phoenix Arizona Lightning Thunderstorm Lightning Strikes (Photo credit: Striking Photography by Bo Insogna)

Dark telling sparks
of illuminating silence,
its contrast a foreboding.

Four dimension image,
a revealing synthesis,
shows breathing photon flows.

Intuitive dimension
of curved foresight
around inverted shadows.

Wild divine dreams
drip dropping
into manmade matrices.

Prophetic screaming
from near-sighted messengers
of the damned and the spared.

Angels’ tears turned rivers of liquid joy
for the arrival of the Phoenix day,
when ashes turn to fire.

Merlin’s Song.

Said Merlin about young Arthur:
This child was born to raise me,
to raise me to a higher plane,
and by his example show me how.

How to connect with nature,
to delight in every morrow,
live in the now and then
and read between the lines.

How to reign with laughter,
throw sternness to the wind,
see a grail in ev’ry bird’s nest,
say hello to the four winds.

To find grace instead of fault
in each and every human being,
be he humble or highborn,
to serve and eat my pride.

To unlearn my stubborn teachings
and open up my heart’s content
and share its magic with the world,
to teach an old man wonders!

To Archangel Raphael.

From dedroidify.blogspot.com

From dedroidify.blogspot.com

From the core of my being
I wish for the freeing
from the bonds of hatred
of all of mankind.

For the melting of frost
and the ice in their hearts,
for the knowledge that kindness
is stronger than might.

Go bring them my love,
whose supply is not finite,
for connected to many,
who stand in your light.

Together we stand, unafraid
and whole in our souls,
a fountain of bounties,
for all to share and enjoy.

Aware that the pleasure of giving
is much sweeter than taking,
the latter not needed,
for the glow goes both ways.

A Prayer to Michael.

Archangel of Mercy,
to Michael this plea,
on behalf of my friends,
to give them some sign
from one who was lost.

Unburden their hearts,
bring them some light,
a message from the Lord,
that all will be right,
reunited in love, up above.

Please, hear my prayer
for these unselfish souls,
unblemished and kind to a fault,
please bring a halt
to the hurt and the pain…

Twanging.

Stringed Migration

Stringed Migration (Photo credit: inger klekacz)

In the album of my soul
rests a blurry picture
of an undeveloped event
waiting to unfold.

On the harp of my heart
a string is plucked
and resonates, longing
for a response from its twin.

In my mind a song is written,
bursting to be sung
to an audience of one,
a merry melody.

Those Learned Bones.

From Gypsy Spirit Wind

From Gypsy Spirit Wind

Why does the heart understand
what the mind can not grasp?
Give me the formula for love!?
What’s the atomic weight of tenderness?

Is kindness a philosophy?
To me it’s all a mystery.
How then do I KNOW love intimately?
Why do I grasp it in my very bones?

I can relate to the wisdom of stones
and spy out the reasons for the seasons
and the intricacies of ebb and tides.
I get the abstractness of the spider’s web…

But I will never get the wickedness of some!

Babbling Silence.

English: Babbling Brook.

English: Babbling Brook. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Silver, dreamy opulence
in mute-born understanding.
Babbling silence on fractured levels,
whispers from between eloquent cracks.

The silent thunder speaks,
more so than the frilly dazzle.
Illiterate earth makes poetry
of intertwining sundry lifeforms.

Over-balancing chaos seeks to redirect
mistakes of zealous freaks,
who in their mad dash for enlightenment
lost sight of all their roots.

God’s grammar needs no teachers!

Home Sweet Home.

From flickriver.com

From flickriver.com

A lingering dream splinters
into a puzzling riddle
of disjointed clues:

A brick was told a secret.
Crumbling mortar,
the glue of untold hopes.

A prayer hidden,
under a tile in the corner,
cobwebbed and long unheeded.

A crowded attic,
for its proximity to Heaven,
stacked with foolish fantasies.

Mildewed comfort on a creaky couch.
A faint smell of now grown children,
still running underfoot.

The green soothing rustling of a garden.
The ‘when’ buried in the cellar,
along with the ‘how’.

A frazzled doormat spells: Home Sweet Home.
A longing mind playing tricks again
with a time-worn traveller.

Dutch Poets Invade WordPress!

Wordpress Button Closeup

WordPress Button Closeup (Photo credit: Titanas)

Two Dutch poet friends of mine have started a WordPress blog. If you speak Dutch and like poetry, check them out:

www.reepken.wordpress.com

www.adelaarwillem.wordpress.com

Apparently a Dutch platform called weblog.nl is calling it quits and most of the users from there will be coming here. Prepare yourselves!

Here are some more:

http://pastuiven.wordpress.com/

http://jeaninehoedemakers.wordpress.com/

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