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 -
Lonely,
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,

Tumbling,
                      churning,
                                          aimless,
                                                             
apart.

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

 

 

 

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.

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

II.

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 an imbecile visiting me in my dreams every night

telling me stories of things I never longed to hear

my right ear closes its shutters while my left one screams

taking its psychoses to its counselor only to find

that he is occupied making love to his underwear

while my soul is suffocating in his oral excrements

hardly able to shut out the noise and euphuistic add-vice

 

There's a hamster chasing away its loneliness

in a giant Ferris-wheel while its feet are catching fire

Dali kneels in front of it and draws its EEG

its colors reflect the mesmerizing multitude of pain

inscribed on scars whose crusty innocence is picked

by eagles and condors with wings clipped in flight

the albatross sits grinning resting his head on his feet

 

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 installed inside a giant supermarket

where you and I go to exchange gifts wrapped in dollar signs

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 coins and their skins into purple-colored bills

resolving their identity in burning fragments of decaying wood

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 leaf 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

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
Farewell.

 

 

 

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

I.

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

II.

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

III.

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

IV.

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

V.

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.