London Dispersion Force

inspired by ‘Hold on‘ by Jacob Ibrag

*

Gray comet ice melting in green ocean water,

that’s what your eyes remind me of… salty cold.

Our time, the bright of friction heat and falling,

the mess this ‘Us’ refuses to be –

I remember, grasping, understanding, holding,

clinging – all the same to me: believing, hoping,

My love can keep both of us safe, I’m sure

becoming haven to stormy waters…

And the comet crashes. Burning, bleeding,

consuming all I have to give, and all I am

My hull  keeps you company,  memory of warmths

I have lost, I crumble…

and let you go…

I let you live, to find your own idea of… happiness

little red riding hood

*

a drowsy little witch, with eyes like the angry sea

dressed in crimson, mouth shaped like a plea

she walked down the road to the black forest

right into its darkest, to a circle of fairy rocks

*

nobody dared to look at her

nobody dared to speak to her

nobody dared to go with her

*

a drowsy little witch, with eyes like a storm

and limbs white, innocent as a lamb, newly born

once a month, she went to the full moon

the midnight flowers blossomed and bloomed

*

nobody knew she’d shed her clothes

nobody knew she’d shed her skin

nobody knew she’d clad in claws’n fur

*

At full moon, nobody goes into the black forest

not to work, not to run or stand still, not to rest

All know, a monstrous wolf hunts there

Hellish howls, ghostly lights fog up there

What’s a heart for?

inspired by “Ache” written by Jacob Ibrag

*

What’s a heart between beats?

Useless pieces of wind-up mechanics

a still lump of  faulty desire,

shaped by struggle,

tireless in its longing

molten rock spiked with shards of glass

broken words, silence of salty tears

frozen into piercing ice

and where my blood should whisper and flow

I got silence and… regret

So-

What’s a heart between beats?

Mine – a coiled snake ready to bite

– a lump of hurt, confusion and anger.

Money and Media

Money is one sinister god I used to prayed to

Me, the kid with the broken heart and  faulty hue

Struck by the currency of freedom and power,

It’s not my  conscience, but my hands I scour

That’s me, on the day I was born, with a black halo

eager to meet my  maker,  without value or credo

In the night, I dream of  ‚never enoughs‘

I dare you, try’n grab me by my scruff

My god grants, gives, takes and demands

I refused and he took me to the  bad lands

 

I’m praying to a different god now,

That’s me, giving her my cash cow –

Me, the sinister kid with the broken briefcase

Smiling, the lens sticking into my happy fat face

promises and cash spilling out, unto the masses

This is me laughing, crawling  to a party of chances

I can’t stop the itching, watch me rehearse bigotry

Media, my goddesses, free me from human dignity

poems by my weird grandma

VIOLETS

(This is a part from an ongoing project, a series of short stories)

Violets, violets in the shadows /

let’s tell truth / if you must

violets, violets beneath the gallows /

Upon my hazel stick / I trust

turn three times in the shallow grave /

turn three times in midnight’s way

 

violets, violets in the shadows /

let’s tell truth /if you must

violets, violets beneath the gallows /

the east wind is not just a gust

the white widow bird calls from the  fir tree

seen and heard only by those, who are free.

poems by my weird grandma

THE LITTLE THIS

(This is a piece from my ongoing project, a short story, or better a bunch of short stories)

a little this / a little that /my sweet parsley hat

big and bright / red and full with dread/

blood from a river / made into a muddy mushroom

come here lavender guest /  life always has room

 

a little this / a little that / my sweet parsley hat

sticks ’n stones / flesh ’n bones / fire  ’n fat

for the stars will  shine / nearby the rose  will chime

come here,  you boney lad / pay the ferryman the dime

 

a little this / a little that / my sweet parsley hat

cling unto the magic hour / cling like mad

song of black birds on leafs / rustling like a trick

cling unto the bright / my happy  little tick

 

a little this / a little that / my sweet parsley hat

empty that red bag / empty it from all the dead

twinkle my ivory tusk / I got  drunk on fairy mead

run faster / beat that heart / beat that snakehead

 

a little this / a little that

I give you now my parsley hat.

…old enough.

I’m old enough, to wake up with pain,

old enough to confess my love in vain;

old enough that my opinion doesn’t count,

that I worry, an irresponsible amount…

I’m old enough to wake up with regret,

with all the small things, that make me fret.

I’m old enough, I got graying hair,

old enough that I’m soaked in despair…

It carved wrinkles into my face,

under my skin,  it took all the space…

I’m old enough to hear my dreams dying sigh

I’m old enough, my tears have run dry…