chin up, least amount
of blinking, preferably
laying down, index finger
ready to point and trace
the glistening appearances
of celestial waste
addicting mili seconds
in between minutes
of nothing
of being
I counted twenty seven
that night in the Italian Alps
and in life? birth, first steps,
words, friendships, trips, degrees
they move swiftly and light up
the sky of our life
upon friction with the atmosphere
of the mundane
theatre of momentary thrills
what will you do in the in between?
it was the sun
a creative force
painting with my house
plants, spreading the
shimmering hellos
through a self-made window
in front of my slowly
opening eyes
a moment of poetry
foreshadowing
evening classes with
young hungry minds
reverberating waves
the sea, the bells
you remembered me
there, is peace a place
a person, a movement of fabric
imprinted on all senses
I can never know who
you remembered — the smiling me
the twirling, the melancholy
or perhaps the one with purple
fingers among the blueberry bushes
the water is calm now
your mind listens, lets go
autumn came early — merciless thief
of green green fields
bear shoulders, wine on the shore
toes doodling in the warm sand
I prefer to think seasons store it all
only to regift us
at nature’s perfect time in full
and when the gusts of wind
awaken waves of memories —
we appear.
in a ceilidh dance
on top of Monte Crostis
clouds twirl as air
carries the joy of the day
first pair second and another
join a vivacious rhythm
into a soft unity
suspended above the spectators
stuck on the peak
as far as they can go
reaching higher only if
they sway to the images
forming, cumulating
in liberty and celebration
of their place in this world
what are clouds?
since they don’t ask
existential questions — I will
but I cannot remember
what they taught me in school
I’ll have to look it up
I wish it was that easy
to find the answers
about the human kind
from time to time
in life
one receives a gift of
observing the storm
behind a mountain
across the valley
in safety in full sun
drawing conclusions
for future from past
how and what to be to do
when it is one’s body
that receives the rain
pushed by strong winds
enveloped in dark clouds
I knew it first as a lullaby
to which I’d drift into dreams
at night, dreams, later, for a life
hopeful, adventurous
relevant and comforting
lyrics, melancholy melody
for a family always
on the move, it seemed
I know it now as a hymn
to which you make sense
of each step, your life
though you’ve been walking
the shores and beaches of
the same lake for the past
fifteen years, you collect your
fellow pilgrims, wooden, stiff
awaiting the same awakening
over Jordan, over home
I see my father
blessed Sunday chaos
getting the preacher’s
whole family to church
not on time, much earlier
honking instead of bells
mom running in her dress
then turning around once more
to fetch snacks for those
who missed breakfast
testing the preacher’s
virtue of patience
he’ll repent later
the benches, balcony
pulpit, communion table
a familiar playground
Say hello to…
Organise the song-books
smiling, greeting
part of the welcoming act
a host in the holy place
by default
then the main act
prayers, hymns, peace
what we came for
afterwards, waiting
for the last, eager faithful
on the curb with a pack
of sunflower seeds
from the corner store
Daddy let’s go!
he’ll just get a book
from his office
this time the whole family
already in the car
this time the preacher testing us
we’ll repent later
it’s time to host lunch
