Monthly Archives: April 2012

A coastal limerick


In Cairinish I once met some shellfish
That was rather stupidly selfish
It drank all the shots
Left none to the Scots
Which made it look awfully elfish


February poem

just one hour, one
week, keep prepared your lamp
wise virgin
wait, soon, in a month’s time
tend, read and watch
let time go by
that day, a boat
something will come.
Whose fire are you fuelling
wise virgin
whose night goes by
you zombie with the lamp
wait, soon it will be over
just this one stake
you won’t need
to wait, live
some day

January poem


Welcoming eyes
Open arms
Open door

Joy lived out
Joy shown
Joy shared

Open ears
Open heart
Open words

Wept together
Felt together
Being together

Friend, my friend
Home where I
Want to be.

November poems II



Here is the edge of a friendship

thought to be,

sudden change,

just a tiny temperature drop at first,

distance crevassing where

closeness was

thought to be,

frost and debris

in the way,

time to be


November poems I


Change is a scent,
A tiny note in a room,
On a person, throughout the town,
Scent is unchanged in the hills.

Change is a sound,
A miniscule pitch in a voice,
Resonance of the road.
Sound is unaltered in the trees.

Change is emotion, perceiving,
And being perceived and starting
All over again, so raw
Change is not… oh to merge with the sea.

River song

Where I grew up, by the river Rhine, there is a multitude of legends and fairy tales about life with/on/by and in the river. Clemens Brentano wrote a beautiful tale about a miller who loved this grand river so much that every night, he went down to the weir and in his joy he sang a song for the river and made a wreath of flowers that, as a gift, he threw upon the water and watched it being carried away….
This is my homage to a smaller but most enchanting river by the name of river:

Hello there, river,
whispered be your name,
for you are full of beauty,
and in your glittering grace
you touch my world
and gently mend its fissures,
adjust its shades to gentler light.

You play with trees whose
images you emulate
and tease some eager ducks.
The reed that seemed to try
and stem your ways in summer
has shrugged and bowed
just like the rocks,
they know who’ll lead the way
and who will stay
and who will not.

Hello there, river,
let me dream your name
for your unbounded beauty
feeds this world
and plays with it
how to play the game.

I.S. 11/2010