Poem by my weird grandma

WHERE

(this is a part of an ongoing project, inspired by my weird and stubborn grandma)

Where were you, when I turned to stone?

when I froze, white and empty to the bone

No angel led me on my path to the throne

Now I’m queen of  pain, so leave me alone

 

Where were you, when I burned to ash?

I couldn’t stop, bleeding out in a flash

An angel led me to my bed in the trash

I called it home, my never healing gash

 

Where were you when I changed my hiccuping heart?

scavenging for happy memories, tearing time apart

A word led my blackened wings to an unwanted start

And the angel turned his back, fearing this part

 

Where were you,  when I had nowhere to turn?

when I survived those I trusted, happy to burn

to light the way into the blue, dashed and stern

how to  drown in midnights, I’m about to learn

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.