Doodles, peace

Doodles on the paper
this is how the artist
lets go of the tension

Appreciation

Saying words of grace
takes time
to arrive first to the heart
the black hole of all things

Smells like Christmas

It smells like Christmas in my kitchen,
smells like the time I stopped
in the heart of the house

right in the middle like a clot
not moving nor let anyone move
to make Christmas over cold stoves

here is a list of things you need for cake
that serves 6, realistically
even if you are on your own:

* peeled apples
* 3/4 sugar
* flour
* cinnamon
* nutmeg
* salt (to taste)

I stand on a flat corner
kneading the flour
needing a listening ear

I stand in the corner
in my house,
shaking like a belly dancer after a long show
cupping powdered sugar to an empty heart

Longing for you in midwinter

Foxgloves in hedges,

Surround the farms,

This is the charm of winter:

People fall in love

And I long for your arms.

Elephants

Nothing more regal than an elephant
another sign for torture,
for others to be happy.

going back home

I am finally back 

you write to me 

I slip between sleep 

and waking to ask you 

what has been the most apparent 

difference you've seen over 

my body, the trees or the clear skies 

I hear you say 

the air, its different

smells like my childhood and your perfume. 

Things to do with anger 1

of the things you can do with your anger 

is make a ball of paper 

throw it out in the nearest bin 

repetition, creation, repetition

The will to create
evaporates
with banality of repetition

Sunday, olives

The ladder positioned between me and the tree

tells a hundred stories 

of running away to hide in branches 

where only the imagination would find me 

scrawling a plan on torn pieces of paper 

pretending its animals skin 

that I am a queen from olden times 

fallen into the recent age by chance 

this is childhood, now older 

with the tree in my hands 

instead of me in hers 

picking its sons and daughters 

how much have you both grown! 

question on origin, once more

I have once asked earth
am I from you?
when I do not have dirt in my hair

it laughed,
all I could know is that
I don't not know for sure

where I descended from
an earth or a sky
or probably a bit of them both.

Drifting in the wrong waters

How many times, would I have had to die
because my ship drifted to where I didn't ask

tornado at sea,
I, am the difficult storm ahead

how many have to go, so I could feel
the wind as a brother

on my neck,
because my ship drifted to the wrong waters

like your life is of no value

You point at an empty frame I haven't hung yet

asking 

what would an empty womb use it for?

Hug

A hug, that binds
the pieces crumbling
that's all my heart needs.

Gypsy music

The nomadic in you
asks you to run
the music demands you stay.

Strike

It is all closed, the storefronts
the streets, all void of people

it is all kept at bay
the cooking, the school-boys running with burdened bags

it is all left behind
the tiresome, slow hours of work

it is all closed off, striking
except the windows to my heart, open.

wedding rings, not needed

No wedding ring
on her fingers

incapable of loving
herself first

maybe it is not about
loving what's inside for once

maybe all this love
has to be splayed open

for the world to see it.

Not the world ending

In simple few words, you say
the world is not ending

your face under the birds of paradise
framed well with the notion

that the world lasts
the distance between two eyes

it will not end, this world
because of loss

because of a few tears I've shed
while you were sitting across from me.

to get to you

To get to you
I'd have to cross two oceans
I am not a great swimmer
I am also afraid of sharks
I am scared of the high tide
I am captured by the night

to get to you
I'd have to let go
what I have built slowly
an empire of bonds
writings on long summer nights
dancing bodies that excessive love
the difference between the moon and the night sky

to get to you
I'd have to give once more
without expecting to take anything back.

Eyes

Hazel, like warm honey
these are the eyes I was given to look
I sought: the sun, the reflection of leaves, sunsets

Blue, like the ocean
these were the eyes I looked into
he sought: ice, skies, dusk

it was a matter of where
the eyes fell, for with the same shape
we still see with different colored eyes

despite the hammer

tedious cold, end of summer
a common, textbook image flies
despite the hammer