Distant Voices



Missing you
                - remembering Ralph Scott

Fall rushes in
Carried on wings of violent-breathing billows.
Autumn colored foliage carpets the earth.
The leaves' softly shimmering colors reflect
The waning wistful evening-sun's rays.
Two single leaves on separate trees -
In defiance of the never-ending wind,
Guarding a darkening future in the early evening hour -
Are blown off their agitated wooden home.
The rush propels them through the air,


Suddenly -
The wind's change moves them,
Drives them... closer... closer...
And marries them -
They voyage on,
Keeping each other warm and covered,
Protecting each other,
Hitting the earth -
The two,




Farewell through pictures

On the other side a street lantern is flickering
attempts without success to shine away
the hours of the night that are lying before it
while the new day is still holding out in the distance

Behind me there is the unbearable noise of engines
they are accompanied by the first glimpses of the new day
those passengers who are still intoxicated with sleep
between taxicabs suitcases baggage claim

Somewhere from out there a voice is calling out
awakens those waiting from their secret dreams
next to me a man is lowering yesterday's paper
stares at me right through me into emptiness behind me

I say my final farewell to the street lantern
turn around and turn myself to this life behind me
disappear in this place of chance and encounters
where farewell and arrival dissolve into nothingness.




Two-way mirrors


I gave you myself
without reservations
and you dressed
me up with your ideas
until I was the perfect fit
for your schemes.


In those tears
falling silently
I can recognize
my reflected image and see
how it breaks up
into a million pieces
upon hitting the tip
of your high-heels.



Homage to conscience
               - thanks to Lorca, Cohen and Kunze for their inspiration
                - to the fool and his muse

There's a right to arms and a right arm protruding justice
signing its vengeance towards anything different from right
driving religion into empty hearts and souls to fill a vacuum
left behind by asocietal morals in conflict with material wealth
where Christmas has been locked up in a giant supermarket
where you and I go to exchange gifts wrapped in foot stamps
to celebrate the birth of yet another victim of our boredom

There's a flock of salivating prophets turning children into gold
their eyes into clouds and their skins into calcite alabaster
resolving their identity in burning fragments of decaying stone
leaving them on battlefields from Phnom Penh to Tahiti
where their weapons are rusting on the beaches of paradise
catching one last tan before returning to their indigenous ritual
yoked in marriage to some entity they call supernatural being

There's a group of bodies occupying space in housing projects
raising children to be our future generation in hate and in crime
watching their faces covered with fancy blue-green patterns
from teachings while their mothers endure one constant rape
and we keep looking on and impose on them our ethereal standards
of right-left-wrong born out of morbid ideas that are representing
an idealistic perspective which no one in their right mind can defend

There's a moon shrouded in tatters of carbon monoxide fabric
watching but no longer able to reach us with its guiding light
its starlike companions have long since abandoned their twinkle
and even the tide now takes its time and no longer tries to rush back
it was replaced by a glutinous mixture of something black and brown
creeping slowly steadily and no longer with any form of warning
towards the only tree still standing waving one last branch in defiance

There's a fool masked in hope returning to my sleep every night
bringing back pictures whose colors we reduced to black and white
he reminds me of the faces of children that are filled with innocence
while playing in the sunlight reflected in the eyes of my sleeping lover
who is dreaming our future and whose soul echoes my promised vow
that I shall continue walking the one path that will lead others
and I will always be there for her if she dares to walk along.



Poem left on an answering machine

The early morning mist 
is slowly, yet hardly fainting away 
the blurred reflections 
of houses seen in the distance 
is painting a soft melody 
of tender-filled melancholy 
while my heartbeat is steadily 
fading into obscured silence

My soul is whispering 
an unknown cry of want 
fair-weather sadness of 
moments on fagged memories 
is passing by my future

And a new breeze chatters 
chasing the sleep out of my eyes 
while the short night awakens 
sending rosebuds of desires 
through the shaking vigilance 
of vibrating verses in my mind

All the while my longing 
is softly humming 
the symphonic poem 
of my soul's elegy.



L'Abbaye de St. Maur 
                - remembering Leonard Cohen 
                - for Catherine Bourdais

Late fall 
Quiet afternoons 
The gardens are lying in the evening sun 
Fruits are reaching towards their final stage of sweetness 
Clouds are sailing towards an unknown distance 
Late fall 
Final ending 



Life is a waltz on rocks of thunder 
            - einer Unbekannten

These eyes

have encountered some beautiful pictures 
glimpses of endless happiness in observing

a young couple that was hugging and kissing 
in a dimly lit parking lot outside of my hotel

her hands were wrapped around his neck 
the fingers of her hand playing with his hair 
while the palms of her hands pressed gently against him 
her body had fallen against his muscular chest 
reflected throughout the tight fit of his shirt 
her breasts resting against his cotton-clad chest 
her lower body crouching onto his legs, his thighs

her lips were drinking the desire from his lips 
her eyes were closed to extend the depth of her emotions 
her heart was beating in anticipation of their touch 
while his arms were holding his future very closely

when she turned her head and opened her eyes 
to look at me as an innocent observer and passerby 
I was stunned to find that I was looking at you 
while he turned to face me, revealing but my features.



Desire is whispering its scream 
                - for you

The palm of your hand is holding my pulsating heart 
while my pen draws spirals on your shivering soul 
baring the scars of longing in an abyss of joy 
envisioning your nakedness draped in the softness of silk 
on a chair full of lust on legs too weak to stand

I am tormenting your balance of woman and friend 
rejuvenating sensuality with the language of true temptation 
that is crowning your longing in fervent sighs of despair

Words begin racing while harboring their hidden meaning 
too deaf to describe too mute to surrender any notes 
onward we are waltzing on rosewood stripped of thorns 
from broken stems -- too weak to break and escape the self 
stroking the thighs of wonder with razor-sharp nails 
on fingers that tempt the forbidden fruit of womanhood 
with our morals conducting this silent concert of desire

My mouth is broken from this language of yearning 
with its tongue tasting the frozen dew on your alabaster breasts 
these lips tracing flames into the hallway of our ecstasy 
its eyes watching you dance to the symphony of broken violins 
while your torn dress hangs openly in the ballroom of frost

The mask I am wearing reflects the salt crusting on your cheeks 
left behind by battles between knowing better and wondering when 
its contours outlining the cross we are trying to carry together

For in my eyes lie the secrets of a million guises 
and each is bound to be uncovered by the woman in you.



Friendship is a bed filled with fluffy pillows of trust 
                - for my friend

                I have lost myself in thoughts many times, 
filled with days of silence and entrenched in lust for life, 
my heart full of tender yearnings and endless desire, 
my mind laden deep with the expectations of others, 
just as I lie laden with the reverence of caring 
for someone whose existence is so close to my own.

                Hardly a dream has surfaced to resolve this state, 
yet creating pure pleasures of bonding and togetherness, 
for I am drifting high on emotions in an endless stream of life, 
where patience is harboring in a soul left to decide 
when to touch the ripening fruit of friendship and love 
that lies bare, though barely hidden from vows of desire.

                For the pleasures of touching stolen moments 
bear no resemblance to the hands of woman and man; 
for even the hands of an artist that have no purer purpose 
then to fondle a divine impulse of curiosity and of neglect, 
and to shape its creativity within the limits of outer freedom, 
solely attempt to communicate through frames full of self.

                Just as you portrayed yourself through the eyes of a lens, 
I have portrayed myself many times in the language of words, 
opposed to disguise and never imprisoning their meaning 
I have continuously searched your eyes to find my inner child 
only to see it dress itself in the window of your soul 
while my fondness circled above on wings of desire.



There have been nights

when I heard silence travel by 
in sounds of stars when passing through 
created ripples on my soul 
and roamed my dreams in search of you

when I saw lightning spark the flame 
that burnt a path into my sleep 
where yearning voyaged on and on 
to fill your absence long and deep

when I wrote poems filled with truth 
that spoke of touching lips and lust 
whose face showed you in purest form 
and fate who sprinkled love with trust.



Winds without sails

Watch the silent footsteps 
alongside my lasting grave 
they are like forgotten fingerprints 
of those I needed to leave

behind the gray headstone 
there lives a mountain of sin 
waiting patiently in overgrown weeds 
and resting as heavy as judgment day

at sunset my soul starts traveling 
in murmurs of silence and peace 
carrying along dark clouds of ending 
making love to skeletons and dreams

at sunrise old ladies come rushing 
driving off the weeds and the sins 
while my heart stops a beat 
to listen for echoes of tomorrow.



Reality has no relatives
                - to my late friend P.D.

The texture of this life 
has turned another shade of gray 
by losing one beautiful friend 
and the texture of today 
no longer bears witness 
neither to the chirping 
that objected to intruding noises 
nor the constant singing 
that rejected any flights of silence

They will be missed greatly 
these rejuvenating sounds of life 
with their melodies resembling words 
more serene than any literature could be 
with their symphonic discourse rivaling 
the poetry of Byron Lorca Rilke

This life’s reality now has to do 
without them and without your presence 
yet the memories continue to exist 
and feed on the souls they have left me to share.



In autumn 
                - to my absence ... she knows why

They say the people of Paris are leaving their city 
some time in summer during the month of August 
in order to make way for the swarming tourists 
who roll in on trains filled with false curiosities

On the platform of my life 
I have seen many trains 
rolling in and rolling out 
leaving traces of absence behind

there was a flow of constancy 
people coming and then going 
at times staying momentarily 
at others leaving rather abruptly

seldom questioning the time of their stay 
and even less the ultimate destination 
sometimes merely pausing for a while to regain 
their strength peace and sense of direction

to most of them I was another station 
on their way towards some other life 
and not one of them ever had the patience 
to see beyond their busy schedule of dreams

Yesterday another train came rolling in 
just like all the hundreds have done before 
it used the same tracks yet kept no time 
just stopped and waited at the tunnel's end

not one train ever stayed longer than a moment 
yet this one made an effort of remaining 
without any doors opening nobody leaving 
and nobody entering or waving from inside

Today the people of Paris will return to their city 
and will regain their glamorous lives one more time 
rolling in on trains filled with hollow schemes of being 
exhausted from the time they spent in another life

Tomorrow will see the waiting train of life departing 
without ever knowing what direction destination or time 
and the one passenger boarding will no longer look back 
will merely roll over the tears left behind on its solid tracks



Growing from friends to lovers 
           - to the cautious heart

Finalement, cette vie tempétueuse qui est enfin un peu floue, 
m’a donné le moment quand je l’ai trouvé, mon pareil.

For the moments you stole and the moments you showed 
were the incarnation of manly-tailored provocation 
sensualized by a scarf, revealed only through your eyes.

La historia de mi vida en tus ojos detecté 
su reflejo bailó el vals con las estrellas de mi noche.

Moving our desires to the tunes of a million disguises 
while conquering and cherishing the moments we live 
yet even in our dreams they reverberate in our passion 
and while yearning for the dew-like sweat on our thighs 
the words of my elegy continue to captivate sincerity and trust

Con il candore delle mie parole ho legato 
i tuoi desideri al mio letto ricolmo di rose

Making love to the truth that is carpeting this friendship 
burying your fears in rose petals mixed with lust and wonder 
the fleeting moments of our constantly rising passion 
keep on showing us their tenderness in times of uncertainty 
overcome with the sensations of wishing for one future 
that would experience you bearing the children of love 
and caring for the one you had always wanted to hold eternally

Selbst wenn es mir gegeben wäre, etwas hinzufügen zu dürfen, 
könnte ich dieser Liebe kaum eine tiefere Wahrheit schenken.

Watching you tempt the boundaries of my confidence 
then seeing you bare yourself to test its non-bending trust 
always probing my principles with subtle sensual temptation 
yet finally succumbing to its truth and to my honesty 
has shown you again and again that it is well worth soaring 
with eagles and entrusting your scared feelings to their magic 
breathing the air of angels on their wings of broken dreams 
resurfacing from desires exhaling through every single pore 
inhaling the life of temptation and adoration on sighs of embrace 
while craving a single stroke from a hand filled with your yearning 
baring heart and mind, leaving body and soul to nurture this loving.

Selalenin ardinda ruhum huzur içinde, 
kalbim senin için çarparken.



Spherical susceptibility

The valley of crowded emptiness
encircled in a waltzing scream
turns the sunset burnt and red
amidst a vibrating silence.

The southern slope changing hue
runs aground in emptied oceans
rained on by flames without fire
such as the flight of careless souls.

The top of one barren mountain
sailing from landscapes misstrewn
like the circle of someone's cry
forms an oval around my moon.

Those clouds I sense traveling
in circles of chaos and out of order
show their final metamorphosis
by trading their oval for one ellipse.

Just like stones turn to pebbles
once they break in a whisper of loss
where earth no longer touches ground
and sky no longer borders space.



Alone with the night
                - to Richie, who left much too early

Everyone knows
        the suffering around us
seeing it torment
        hearts and souls
stealing the lives of everybody here
until each cell suffocates the spirit

Everyone knows
        but leisurely forgets
dismisses change
        in light of today
trading the tomorrows for misery
which shows itself in innocent eyes
of victimized fortunes in utter despair

Everyone knows
        for everyone stays awake
waiting for day to pass
        and night to vanish
leaving sanity behind to cope and survive
attempting to extend the agony once again

fighting truth we can’t accept
in the anguish we endure
and the sorrow that prevails
no matter where we turn to

losing the respect for life
in the pain we all suffer
and in the dreams we bury
while they are still alive.