Category: From Lieven.


Summer Rain


50167-its-raining-its-pouring-illustration

How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain!

How it clatters along the roofs,
Like the tramp of hoofs
How it gushes and struggles out
From the throat of the overflowing spout!

Across the window-pane
It pours and pours;
And swift and wide,
With a muddy tide,
Like a river down the gutter roars
The rain, the welcome rain!

The sick man from his chamber looks
At the twisted brooks;
He can feel the cool
Breath of each little pool;
His fevered brain
Grows calm again,
And he breathes a blessing on the rain.

From the neighboring school
Come the boys,
With more than their wonted noise
And commotion;
And down the wet streets
Sail their mimic fleets,
Till the treacherous pool
Ingulfs them in its whirling
And turbulent ocean.

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Hundred.


A thousand books my library
Contains;
And all are primed, it seems to me
With brains.
Mine are so few I scratch in thought
My head;
For just a hundred of the lot
I’ve read.

A hundred books, but of the best,
I can
With wisdom savour and digest
And scan.
Yet when afar from kin and kith
In nooks
Of quietness I’m happy with
Sweet books.

So as nine hundred at me stare
In vain,
My lack I’m wistfully aware
Of brain;
Yet as my leave of living ends,
With looks
Of love I view a hundred friends,
My books.

590px-Ancientlibraryalex

The Joke.


Knipsel

The harridan who holds the inn
At which I toss a pot,
Is old and uglier than sin,–
I’m glad she knows me not.
Indeed, for me it’s hard to think,
Although my pow’s like snow,
She was the lass so fresh and pink
I courted long ago.
I wronged her, yet it’s sadly true
She wanted to be wronged:
They mostly do, although ’tis you,
The male bloke who is thonged.
Well, anyway I left her then
To sail across the sea,
And no doubt she had other men,
And soon lost sight of me.
So now she is a paunchy dame
And mistress of the inn,
With temper tart and tounge to blame,
Moustache and triple chin.
And though I have no proper home
Contentedly I purr,
And from my whiskers wipe the foam,
–Glad I did not wed her.
Yet it’s so funny sitting here
To stare into her face;
And as I raise my mug of beer
I dream of our disgrace.
And so I come and come each day
To more and more enjoy
The joke–that fifty years away
I was her honey boy.

Tick Tock.


From Lieven Grillaert:

1512344_10202909452765120_925100328_n

How can i tell what is in your mind,
the twisting of your thoughts
has left me wandering in the dark
has left me searching for an answer

its cold and lonely in the dark
where even silence makes a sound
and danger lurks around the corner
and no answers can be found

so tell me please where do i go,
what roads i have to wander
to find that little spark of hope
to find that wanted answer

what keys are there to open up,
the hidden doors to your heart,
so that i can find some needed peace
so that i can finally sleep

The Busy Man


If you want to get a favor done
by some obliging friend,
And want a promise, safe and sure,
on which you may depend,

Don’t go to him who always has
much leisure time to plan,
If you want your favor done,
just ask the busy man

The man with leisure never has
a moment he can spare,
He’s always “putting off” until
his friends are in despair

But he whose every waking hour
is crowded full of work
Forgets the art of wasting time,
he cannot stop to shirk

So when you want a favor done,
and want it right away,
Got to the man who constantly
works twenty hours a day

He’ll find a moment somewhere,
that has no other use
And help you, while the idle man
is framing an excuse

HelpingHand

For those who wondered


154601828_b154c62b4e

I been scared and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,

Looks like between ‘em they done
Tried to make me

Stop laughin’, stop lovin’, stop livin’–
But I don’t care!
I’m still here!

When the children come home


Knipsel

On a lonely selection far out in the West
An old woman works all the day without rest,
And she croons, as she toils ‘neath the sky’s glassy dome,
`Sure I’ll keep the ould place till the childer come home.’

She mends all the fences, she grubs, and she ploughs,
She drives the old horse and she milks all the cows,
And she sings to herself as she thatches the stack,
`Sure I’ll keep the ould place till the childer come back.’

It is five weary years since her old husband died;
And oft as he lay on his deathbed he sighed
`Sure one man can bring up ten children, he can,
An’ it’s strange that ten sons cannot keep one old man.’

Whenever the scowling old sundowners come,
And cunningly ask if the master’s at home,
`Be off,’ she replies, `with your blarney and cant,
Or I’ll call my son Andy; he’s workin’ beyant.’

`Git out,’ she replies, though she trembles with fear,
For she lives all alone and no neighbours are near;
But she says to herself, when she’s like to despond,
That the boys are at work in the paddock beyond.

Ah, none of her children need follow the plough,
And some have grown rich in the city ere now;
Yet she says: `They might come when the shearing is done,
And I’ll keep the ould place if it’s only for one.’

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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hond-vlaskamp-300x221

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.


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.

 

Slowing our steps in the forest


forest

Credit Picture : Sheila Kuhn

Walking along, a community together
slowing our steps, the forest before us
spending time, lingering there
Open to what the creator will show us
gifts of this moment to share
Entering in, deeper and deeper
the pond and its treasure made known
An expanse of water, the reeds and the rushes
the artistry of our maker’s brush
Trees and moss, the ferns and the oak leaves
the crunch of the branches, the rocks underfoot
Sharing the day, the time and the fellowship
slowing our walk, in union with you

Encounting


The matchbox trembled in terrified hands.
You can only go so far before you can’t come back.
But on and on they went anyway.
It’s their own fault when they fade away.

addiction

Ralphie will understand…


They meet after months and yet
The time melts away
And they are back in the swing
Ready to banter and bait
To play off one against the other
Of easy laughter and witty repartee
Easy smiles and quick jabs
To while away to hours
And drink in life again
As they do, as old friends do
With relish and a tall tale or two

True_Friendship_by_kimcats

…block…


typewriter

I’ve never known what I take we understand is

writer’s block.

I can write well past eternity

unless unless

unless unless

Unless

I’m not grabbed by an idea or until I grab hold.

And I’m well past midnight-stiff, startled, appalled.

That I’ve grabbed hold and

shaped and crafted

and exulted

six hundred six thousand six hundred thousand times

before

one time one time one time

one time….

No matter.

Is this what writers fear?

It scares me shot through to a place of

persistent, low-grade, three-a.m. terror.

Because my commitment is to write every day,

write something meaningful to me,

I do lie in bed many nights (as this one)

with an anxiety dreadfully real and

dull-pounding.

Yet even as I know and as I say

“How absurd!”

(and I do say it, I do pronounce it)

I know that come sun (or morning fog)

I’ll have my idea.

Just now, I don’t.

And I’m shot-though terror.

Unseen


Hundreds of thousands visit online
Those who chose to join not.

Still hundreds more who took the time
To fill out the data, post info and sign
Their pledge to conform to the rules.

Somehow surviving, the twenty plus Reverse.
Their choice is choose not to reveal who they are.
They lurk and rework in a manner perverse
Writing God only knows what from afar.

What attraction holds them to be
either poet or reader,
less a need to communicate
or express, not exist?
Left to dwell in anonymity?
A choice, a good reason? Mystery.

White Witch


witchO brothers mine, take care! Take care!
The great white witch rides out to-night.
Trust not your prowess nor your strength,
Your only safety lies in flight;
For in her glance there is a snare,
And in her smile there is a blight.

The great white witch you have not seen?
Then, younger brothers mine, forsooth,
Like nursery children you have looked
For ancient hag and snaggle-tooth;
But no, not so; the witch appears
In all the glowing charms of youth.

Her lips are like carnations, red,
Her face like new-born lilies, fair,
Her eyes like ocean waters, blue,
She moves with subtle grace and air,
And all about her head there floats
The golden glory of her hair.

But though she always thus appears
In form of youth and mood of mirth,
Unnumbered centuries are hers,
The infant planets saw her birth;
The child of throbbing Life is she,
Twin sister to the greedy earth.

And back behind those smiling lips,
And down within those laughing eyes,
And underneath the soft caress
Of hand and voice and purring sighs,
The shadow of the panther lurks,
The spirit of the vampire lies.

For I have seen the great white witch,
And she has led me to her lair,
And I have kissed her red, red lips
And cruel face so white and fair;
Around me she has twined her arms,
And bound me with her yellow hair.

I felt those red lips burn and sear
My body like a living coal;
Obeyed the power of those eyes
As the needle trembles to the pole;
And did not care although I felt
The strength go ebbing from my soul.

Oh! she has seen your strong young limbs,
And heard your laughter loud and gay,
And in your voices she has caught
The echo of a far-off day,
When man was closer to the earth;
And she has marked you for her prey.

She feels the old Antaean strength
In you, the great dynamic beat
Of primal passions, and she sees
In you the last besieged retreat
Of love relentless, lusty, fierce,
Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet.

O, brothers mine, take care! Take care!
The great white witch rides out to-night.
O, younger brothers mine, beware!
Look not upon her beauty bright;
For in her glance there is a snare,
And in her smile there is a blight.

Foto : Sheila

Its funny sometimes


Its funny sometimes,
how the little things matter,
how we listen to gossip,
and mindless chatter

Its funny sometimes,
how we stress for no reason,
we feel down on a sunday,
or we change with each season

Its funny sometimes,
how we can feel so alone,
wanting someone to visit,
wanting someone to phone

Its funny sometimes,
how we just need a hug,
to scootch up on the sofa,
and cuddle and snug

Its funny sometimes,
when things get us down,
always looking at the floor,
always showing a frown,

Its funny sometimes,
if we just lift our heads,
look at the world,
and smile instead

Embrace every meeting,
enjoy every talk,
sharing those special moments,
laughing together on a nice long walk.

Open our eyes,
and take in every sight,
theres no time for sadness,
its time to fight!

Its funny sometimes,
that everything is fine,
and the people who love you,
have been right here the whole time.

Lullaby


Now the day is done,
Now the shepherd sun
Drives his white flocks from the sky;
Now the flowers rest
On their mother’s breast,
Hushed by her low lullaby.

Now the glowworms glance,
Now the fireflies dance,
Under fern-boughs green and high;
And the western breeze
To the forest trees
Chants a tuneful lullaby.

Now ‘mid shadows deep
Falls blessed sleep,
Like dew from the summer sky;
And the whole earth dreams,
In the moon’s soft beams,
While night breathes a lullaby.

Now, birdlings, rest,
In your wind-rocked nest,
Unscared by the owl’s shrill cry;
For with folded wings
Little Brier swings,
And singeth your lullaby.

Time for love


Christmas is a time for Love;
a time for Joy and Peace;
A time to trim the Christmas Tree
and a time to stuff the geese.

It’s a time when we can come together,
however far or near;
To shed a little hope into a world
of sorrow and fear.

Yet Christmas could be all year ’round,
if only we would try
To gently wipe an old man’s brow
or soothe a baby’s cry.

If we could smile throughout the year
as we do on Christmas Day;
Just think what happiness we’d shed
along life’s weary way.

To give a gift of Hope
to one who otherwise has none;
To be a Friend to somebody
whom everyone else has shun.

To be Forgiving of our faults,
and of our sisters and our brothers;
To Live in Peace and Harmony
with ourselves and with each other.

Ah, don’t you see that Christmas
is more than opening up the gifts;
It’s more than singing Christmas Carols
and rolling in big snow drifts.

It’s a feeling that can stay with you
throughout each day, all year;
And all it takes is a loving heart
and a sensitive little tear…

Wrestling


dark_angel_by_lordhannu-72619

This morning I read about me wrestling an angel.
And of the dream.
About the ladder reaching to heaven,
threaded with angels, ascending, descending.

This life, here on earth.
Who has not wrestled an angel?
All night, till the breaking of day.
Blind.
Pressed close as lovers.
Consumed in the fetid sweat of the flesh,
the terrible reek of power from an angel.
Thy name shall no more be called ‪Lieven.

Rising up, weak and spent in the morning,
a strange name branded onto the brow,
a nameless horror still clinging.

And ? and ? was it the end ?


boem

Who are you?
And who am I?
All the while we’re trapped inside
This world that one day is doomed to die

Living in this world of pain
Telling yourself it’s just a game

Gone with the wind
And forever more
The sun will set upon the shore

Make a wish, it’s gone for now
The sun has set upon the bow

Sail to land and meet your friends
Be thankful you have returned again

Be glad your travels have come to an end
It’s time to help your friendships mend

Then thank the gods for hope and light
Thank them everything is right
They knew that someday someone would
Try to end this peaceful world

Now that everything is done
Understand that you have won

For everyone wins this dreadful game
Of ships and dreams and awful pain

And when the game is through
And the players gone home
Be thankful it was just a game
And that the world is still the same

That everyone you used to know
Has once again returned to go
To begin this dreadful game once more
And watch the sun set on the shore

Kids’ mas


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I’d like to send my biggest Yuletide wishes,

not to my closest friends or loved relations,

but out to kids who’ve never heard of Christmas,

the ones in all the far-off poorest nations.

The kids who struggle daily for survival,

who never heard of Santa or December,

to whom a gift is simply one more morning

without the loss of one more family member.

Those kids who grow despising all religion,

with anger in their veins and hate a winner,

infused with venom searching for a victim,

not once to see the love of Christmas dinner.

Those waifs in countries still without a future,

no sleigh bells to bring smiles to hungry faces,

in Africa, Afghanistan and Asia,

the Middle East and countless other places.

So spare a thought as you unwrap your presents,

the season to be jolly – money driven,

and say a prayer for kids who don’t have Christmas,

then thank your God for what you have been given.

To Ralphie and Gran


Gran I wonder
where you keep your wings.

Are they hung in your closet
with the rest of your things?

Do you put them away
and just use them at night

or give them to Ralphie
to polish up bright.

I know you have wings,
for this must be true,

’cause God always gives
them to Angels just like you

tribute to… Sheila

Zip-it :-)


zip

What it is that makes one appear
To challenge the meshing forces of a zipper
That come together as one
When a bit of force comes along.

Caught up in the fabric
And unwilling to wait
The shaped charges embrace
When brought face to face.

Yet a single piece of unwanted thread
Causes the tangle that all dread
When between the maws of the opening
There remains no single way of coping.

Struggle as one may like
Soon disaster is about to strike
For a forced separation can cause
Destruction by Nature’s laws.

What else to do?
When solutions are so few.
Trying to gain freedom and release
When one only wants some peace.

The tension of the organ within
Continues to demand some end
Of the problem which has assumed
Monumental proportions for that entombed.

Finally with a struggle
That ends the tussle
Freedom at last is at hand
With a final pull on the extended tab.

Relief once short lived
Now must face the fact that violence gives
A new problem to be solved.
How to reunite that which was just parted?

(Perhaps this isn’t about a zipper at all?)

Lonely Dog.


Dog Looking at and Listening to a Phonograph, ...

Dog Looking at and Listening to a Phonograph, “His Master’s Voice”, The Original RCA Music Puppy Dog Logo Symbol for Advertising (Photo credit: Beverly & Pack)

“Once I was a lonely dog,
Just looking for a home.
I had no place to go,
No one to call my own.
I wandered up and down the streets,
in rain in heat and snow.
I ate what ever I could find,
I was always on the go.
My skin would itch, my feet were sore,
My body ached with pain.
And no one stopped to give a pat
Or a gently say my name.
I never saw a loving glance,
I was always on the run.
For people thought that hurting me
was really lots of fun.
And then one day I heard a voice
So gentle, kind and sweet,
And arms so soft reached down to me
And took me off my feet.
“No one again will hurt you”
Was whispered in my ear.
“You’ll have a home to call your own
where you will know no fear,”
“You will be dry, you will be warm,
you’ll have enough to eat”
“And rest assured that when you sleep,
your dreams will all be sweet.”
I was afraid I must admit,
I’ve lived so long in fear.
I can’t remember when I let
A human come so near.
And as she tended to my wounds
And bathed and brushed my fur
She told me ‘bout the rescue group
And what it meant to her.
She said, ”We are a circle,
A line that never ends.”
“And in the center there is you
protected by new friends.”
“And all around you are
the ones that check the pounds,
And those that share their home
after you’ve been found.”
“And all the other folk
are searching near and far.”
“To find the perfect home for you,
where you can be a star”.
She said, “There is a family,
that’s waiting patiently,
and pretty soon we’ll find them,
just you wait and see.”
“And then they’ll join our circle
they’ll help to make it grow,
so there’ll be room for more like you,
who have no place to go.”
I waited very patiently,
The days they came and went.
Today’s the day I thought,
my family will be sent.
Then just when I began to think
It wasn’t meant to be,
there were people standing there
just gazing down at me.
I knew them in a heart beat,
I could tell they felt it too.
They said, “We have been waiting
for a special dog like you.”
Now every night I say a prayer
to all the Gods that be.
“Thank you for the life I live
and all you’ve given me.”
“But most of all protect the dogs
in the pound and on the street.”
“And send a Rescue Person
to lift them off their feet.””

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