Then And Now

The sky so blue
I join the clouds
rising above
I am the wind.

I get no views
I stand my ground
there are new rules
that’s what I’ve found.

(Inspired by “The blue sky”, Christy Ann Martine)

Who preside over the arts

Do I get up earlier
or stay up late
for Billy Collins’ poems?
Sure not.

But whenever I read one of his
I feel inspired to write one of my own,
and that I must say
counts for a muse.

The poem that wasn’t

I sat down to write a poem,
but not just that, I wanted more, an edu-poem:
part edu-tainment (which in itself is part education, part entertainment),
part poem.

But none of it had rhymes
and despite its 50 lines
it didn’t have a point.

For you to pick

In poems
sentences don’t need to be trimmed.
They need to be seeded;
briefly sprouted at most.

A people stored away

Even after 18 years of schooling
I was still not alarmed at how easy it was to be stuck there.
Contrariwise, for a while I was considering to stay even longer,
for a doctoral degree.

„Year after year
running over the same old ground
what have we found?”

Only two decades later did I become fully aware of that
schools are like mould-infested storage boxes
in which good seeds go bad,
living out their lives
numbed, crippled, throttled.

Do not fall asleep in there.
Get out while your spark is still ablaze inside of you,
no matter how scary it might look like outside of the box.

I yearn to hear a—
I made it out alive, I’m back!
„Wish you were here.”
Wish I was here.

Child’s play—who has the time?

To improve the knees
we need to work on the hip joints and glutes
and on the pelvic tilt and the pelvic clock
and on the flexibility of the chest
and on how the movements of the chest relate to the pelvis and legs
and how the eyes prevent or further the movements of the chest
and how habitual tension in the hands stiffen the neck and shoulders
and it might just be that
if the toes and ankles can’t respond fully in walking
the knees will not improve…
I mean… …who has time for all that?

Smooth criminal

It takes only a minute
to bury a bird
say in the backyard
below two trowels of dirt.

My dear cat at the doorstep
sits longer in doubt
considering if
she should stay in or go out.

Syllables 7557, rhyme ABCB, this poem is strongly inspired by Billy Collins, „Predator”.