One more for AKM

before I bow before the night

and sleep takes worries from me and fright

a song I send to a friend far away

whose freedom was threatened on this day.

Mean the man,  his vengeance seeking

his angry wish to see the Angel bleeding.

He gave what was not his to give

and will have to try to live

with words that turn to ashes in his mouth

and masses wishing that he go South.

 

The Angel wings so hurt by slime

will heal soon and in good time

as friends and friends reach out to hold

the spirit, which they know is bold,

so while Wings can´t reach the sky

that  heart and spirit on love will fly.

@EvB

For my favourite Blogger: Alaska Muckraker  http://www.themudflats.net

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Your Face

is beautiful, I think

I am tempted to ask

if an operation could make

my face so thoughtful and strong,

the lines so clear, the skin a hue of warmth

the eyes, lakes to drown in,

and then I hope that you

see the beauty in me that I don´t.

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Volcano

I remember your smell.

Unlike siren song it did

not call me to your shore.

No breath used to plead

with the oarsman to stop,

then when the skin on

this writing hand

was much smoother.

Nothing remains of your image.

Instead

a smell

Your name

Stromboli

@EvB

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My dream of America

Swing on porch the evening whispers in my ear

of life walked under heavens that stretch

as far as golden lands, sheep cloud only break the rest

of blue reflected on to salty seas surrender my heart

to faithless waves and as I dive the many

coloured fish ignore my wonder rise to

breathe the air the pine will share,

in snow capped mountains from which to fly

with eagle wings back to a porch where

collect rough leaves of mint and sage and add

to reaped from mother earth that hums a lullaby of old

that soothes arising to my life.

@EvB

Published in VHS Frankfurt – Literary magazine – Pandora Fall Issue 2009

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Frankfurt Limerick

There once was a girl in Frankfurt

She scribbled on paper till her hand hurt

When she undug a new thought

from it poetry she wrought

was a craft she learnt while in Frankfurt

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WHERE I´M FROM

WHERE I´M FROM

à la Francesca

Dreaming life as hands

wrap with pink pins,

Marsiglia and Ponds scented.

A world dark and warm under stairs

or

mossy, full of dandelions milky stickiness.

Reach for incense, guilt and clay camels

shaped by apple orchard,

eternal city and ocean liner.

Gatherings at feast of

Spaghetti and Sweet Corn

with Krueger and Meschiari.

Talking of Worriers and Warriors.

or

Tales of war times she remembers,

of the eye he lost

when life was returned to him

by fairies in many coloured books.

I am from numbered folders

on wooden shelves

images of worlds

I will never know

and

of people…. with voices never heard by me.

Grandpa, elusive whisper in a dream,

everything

will be …… all right.

@EvB

Based on the model by www.georgeellalyon.com

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What I found in this room

When I sit in this room
Time just stops in its tracks.
Words obscured by daily grind
bubble up into my mind.
We laugh and we cry
and it’s ok if we do.
No one to judge: “This is naught”.
All is well and time can restart.

When I sit in this room
my words all make sense.
My life comes to me
in memories not too bad.
Surrounded by my family,
all is well and I am safe.
From the truth is born the fiction
which I long to make my own.

When I sit down in this room
I know that I can be
what the teacher knows I am.
Others see, hear and smell
where I have been and when
I walk out of this room
and their dreams follow me
to cheer me to shape mine into life.

@EvB

Dedicated to my creative writing Teacher Dr. Peggy Rosana Preciado

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Shy

I am
and yet
I speak

so you will not know

that this heart
hides behind
all that noise

and you will not know

the disguise
is so cunning
but I die

because you do not know.

@EvB

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