Envelop

Creeps, the darkness advances,
entirely wraps itself around my freezing heart,
claw-cloaking to keep out the warmth and light
that yet pushes to reach.

Sleep Time

I rove and roam within my mind;
Awkward zomblie lust-filled mare,
Night digs in deep, deeper still,
And salvation is not close at hand.

I lie awake, dreaming light-beams,
Seemingly a sphere of radiance benign,
Dawns upon a sullen brow,
Too eager, too keen, yet far too old.

Water-clad

Dripping in dewy sunshine droplets
Honey-pearled, wisdom-reared
The creature dreams of dreaming clearly
Of all that it could be
One day, sometime, somewhere.

The river soothes, trickles gladness
Creatures dance and mingle, rock step along
Pools of mirror fantasy
Elongate the soul's pleasure.

The river is always there,
Is always coming,
And is always going away.

Cornerstone

Built my palace on your love for me
Dwelling to befit a divine couple
Of ordinary humans
Touched by a moment of love
And madness
Wrapped up in scrolls of exulted claims
To eternal love
Life unbound, unfettered
By life itself
Beyond it all and reaching even further
To where the grand mansion is located
On the edge, on the shelf
The ridge where we dare not linger.

The Valley

It lay bare and open that day
The words tumbled from our eager tongues
Pleasant whispers, elevated notions
Collided dreams, real-time infotainment
Too nice, too lovely to forget
Even then.

And later that day as evensong cleared
The words become touching
Whispers kisses
And nothing could turn back
The world was ours
And this night alone
We would live forever.

What I Believe

That a poem should be concise and not endless pages long,
And a word should uplift the weary soul, and then soothe.

That if you can you should go for a ride in a balloon,
And forget about what you think of your self altogether.

That the world is a wondrous and terrible place,
And life both beautiful and horrific.

That the intricate secret web of life itself is built upon paradox,
Or perhaps not.

Mountain Daze

Climbed to the peak,
Montserrat, mountain of the Black Madonna,
shrine of cliffs, roof of the world,
with Catalunya stretching out for hundreds of years all around.

While She, regal statuette, lodged high above the altar,
high above the world,
watches over us,
and weeps.

In Dutch

In the Dutch language,
all things seem clear,
and direct,
often brutishly blunt.

No room for prevarication,
or obfuscation, vaccilatory nuance.

They tell it like it is, you see,
Not as they wish it would be.
More refined, slightly more elegant.

Song for an Angel

Sing to me of distant loves,
of enchantress pining for a saviour,
of lectures unattended,
while the young maidens run free,
barefoot through dewy May fields,
in the same places we knew,
only centuries ago.

Vapour

I watched the olde-worldy train pull out
of the weather-beaten station.
Your suitcases and you were on board,
forever departing, and that's how you'll stay.

You left in summer, and the sunshine,
and the green grass and the clean crisp air,
All wanted to leave with you,
and the grime and dust remained.

And so did I.

Creeps

Shadows mark the hazy aura
Of what once was a thought.
That kiss, that pure emotion,
Our sense of needing, wanting bliss.

Now turned into afterthought,
Memory unwelcome,
That creeps us uninvited.

Salamander

Fiery twisted flame dancer,
Stretched toad-reptile,
Underworld reveller,
Your word has never been your bond,
Nor your heart your own to direct.

Foreign masters have you in chains,
And the light does not pervade
Into your better chambers.