Vienna #1_Old Love Dost Not Rust

a patterned old tile floor in a smokey bar
where once the alley cats
used to walk upon

to sounds of songs we liked when young
we fill the air with chinwag
and laughter


gossiping about the good old days
when promise lay ahead of us
the promise of endless possibilities

else2i see your love and affection for each other
in your eyes and smiles and way of talking
and i’m sitting there, more than grateful
for the time and thoughts we share


or the other day when we were sitting in another place, pondering
on the meaning of togetherness, love and longing
intangible abstractions, like a painting
by Georgia O’Keefe


and the moment we discern that love
lies in the present
no matter with whom
you share it
and what

loneliness, the only constant in life
dreaded but needed
to inspire opus
like incense

the lonely artist finds her voice only
within the realm of madness
her true muse

a cold wind shaking my bones reminds my heart of its frozen state
ready to build walls against the next inevitable injury
but what would be an open heart
without bleeding?

it is better to love, i’m infering though
to be in love with the impossible
than not to love at all
as true love can only
be accessed through
severe pain

resistance is futile
i’m pain, i’m love
thank you


„Take your broken heart, make it into art.“ – R.I.P Carrie Fisher


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dolce far niente

summer’s heat had dried up all tears
before flowing into the ocean
meanwhile cursing God
the misogynist sadist up there
beyond the vineyards of Sigalas

autumn leaves were blown away
by the breath of a man
whose childish mind
was not ready to make up
to the truth and soul of a woman

winter’s cold is long gone
the silence and solitude
of a frosty season
with its painful revelations
to the inward looking third eye

spring has taken over now
with a sunny kiss
new prospects
life creating itself
anew, the ever-repeating cycle

la dolce vita

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a new year’s prayer

‚this time, it’s going to be different‘
you thought
but you forgot to lay off the burden
of the past
‚this time i will find myself in the reflection of your eyes‘
was the intention
so well-meant
and so futile

nothing is going to be different
unless you change yourself
the way you think and act
is what makes things
become different 

believe in yourself , trust your guts
never compromise yourself to the lesser evil
love yourself, cherish life and never accept to be just seen a little
as complexity is what makes all of us and it wishes to be acknowledged and worshipped

a new year’s resolution, thus:
i promise to listen to the voice of the goddess inside me
i promise to listen to the divine wisdom of others
i promise to be love

 happy 2016 !!

2015-08-21 19.43.38

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No Prince Left To Run

Sea roses and frogs, and tree trunks in the sun
while you’re dropping biblical allusions
and we’re both are making fun
of life’s confusions

hastily, filling these blanks of this „getting-to-know“
like old friends, who’ve just met
and maybe that is why


I’m an open book, while you’re building walls
except for the rare moments when your eyes blink
with desire


you help me unravel the mystery
of self-deceptions
and easily
words are floating through the hot summer air
like dragon flies ….

With you I can stop telling fairy tales
no frogs left in this pond worth picking
you’re pointing at them, reminding me, asking:
„How many of them have you been kissing?“

And after seeing that sparkle in your eyes again, I admit:

„I am a passionate frog-kisser!“

But whatever I kiss,
in the end it is always myself that I find within the reflection of the pond.
I’m imperfect.
I’m shattered.
I’m naive.


Nothing ever brought me closer to the pain of knowing
who I am
than sitting at this pond together with you
counting frogs
when all I wanted to say was „I love you“
at the wrong point in time.



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little red riding hood

this is a tale of a dark forest
and the time back in the days

when the invisible touch of the night
came closer to a heart of longing
with a sigh and the sweet breath
of a lover deeply mourning

SONY DSCshe took her basket and went out
under the fool moon, under cold green light
she lost her way and whereabout
her destination out of sight

the creepy sounds of crackles and screeches
the coldness of a nocturnal wood
soaked through her scarlet hood
when mister lupus came along, on a stroll

she could not quite make out his shadowy silhouette
when he streched out his paws to catch her
and she sunk, oh she sunk, with a fainting pirouette
into his arms and on his hairy chest


they boozed the wine
they ate the cake
and made the shore of grandma’s lake
besides the frogs, a lover’s shrine

where princes never will be kissed
where only lupus fervently hissed

„oh little scarlet girl, you’re mine,
i had the cake, i had the wine,
but the taste of yours is what i cherish,
your innocence i will make perish!“

and little scarlet moaned and giggled
took off her stockings, and the red cape too
lupus, while with his bushy tail he wiggled
howled into the nightly silence: „woohoo woohoo!“

 (spring 2009 / rework: 2015)

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separation poem

when love ends, it does not end
it keeps floating endlessly, still
it is just a relationship that ends
or an illusion, also named projection
of one’s own desires
unto the other

when love ends, it never ends
it keeps driving us mad
what we have to bury
is our childish wish
to find oneself
in the other

love is endless
what is limited is our dreams
if we fail to live them

what has to end is the lies we tell ourselves
the fairy tales that we make up about ourselves
the realtionships we are unable to live

love begins as a tiny blossom
within the centre of ourselves
and if we can’t let it grow
within our own hearts
to nurture our souls
we’ll remain unable
to carry it outside
into this world
to the other




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eternal sunshine

SONY DSCDistance
is a long walk in the sunshine
that takes you away from familiar terrain
and familiar heartaches
seeks the unfamiliar
that is new to your heart
but unconsciously known

bridging the gap
is taking rocks and tools
into your own hands
to build solid paths
through wilderness

in a dream I saw a statue of Mary
made of stone, in a forest
and she saved me
from an endless journey
of longing
I met her again
years later

Dreams come true!

A kiss is an endless poem
that fills the air with words
outwith space and time
two mouths speaking together
in rhymes of patience
in stanzas of devotion

Transience loses its relevance
in the here and now
and the only thing that matters
is sincerity … and faith!

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florence and the TIME TRAVEL machine

SONY DSC mama_baptisterium SONY DSC mama_mauer SONY DSC mama_blickaufpontevecchio SONY DSC mama_blickvonpontevecchio

my lips sweet and moist from purple wine i am staggering past the statues of bacchus and exaggerated monuments of glory. travelling alone, all by myself, but always in good company, my feet sore from walking on the grounds of historical places that make me feel like travelling in time. renaissance palazzi that remind me of cyrano’s poems and medieval churches where i feel the presence of Mary, the goddess of the tuscan hills, spilling her fertile blessings on the soil. and i feel the presence of her Son’s love to the people. and the powerful words of his Father, within the silence of the tombs.

and i am beginning to think of my own mother. the woman who gave birth to me. and i think of all the times when we did not understand each other. and i think of all the times we argued, tried to hurt each other, with words, so powerful. but has not God given us words to reconcile? and has He not given us the power of language to pray? so, i take the flame and light another candle.

mum, i went to all the places you been.
asking people i did not know to take a picture
i was searching for something we have in common
in the past and in the future
life is short, mum
i love you

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alone in the hills

now that you’ve found the road
how does it feel?
and now that you’ve smelled the oleander trees
how does it feel?
between those walls of stone and history
and the grey leaves of olive groves
in the torrid silence of high noon
in the empire of the lizard
when the sun, and oh, the sun!
and pines and cypress alleys
and vinery
does it ever make you think of tomorrow?
or does it ever make you think of things past?

i’ve seen the valleys and the hills
and oceans on the horizon
solemn faces of alabaster
and Mary, Goddess of the hills
her breasts lying bare
and fertile
to feed her children
Etruscans, they say
who needs walls to worship
your kingdom?


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lndn 5 am

finally, the roaring has stopped
sunrays fall silently on cold asphalt
adorned with blots of saliva
the first bus is hissing

an echo of last night’s tremendous crescendo
of that ever attacking and decaying symphony of noise
interspersed with the curses of staggering repatriates
a staccato of ‚fuck you fuckers fuck fuck you fuckers‘
and the desultory threats of pathetic hipster kids

in the first tangerine morning light
the city has almost regained its innocence
the blaring insults and evergreen trash
of ever repeating lucky daft punks

breathing the air heavy with waste-whatever
blinking against the sky after a night
in which the eye wanted to sleep
but the head was no mattress


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