All things go

Your fists will never be enough

Bloodied knuckles and jumbled thoughts

You looked for something and lost yourself

But you were right there, you swear, you were there, standing

Everything’s too fast and you’re too slow now

Not quite old, not quite, just in that dark space inbetween

Where nothing makes much sense

Just one more fight, you think, one more fight and then you’ll rest

But there’s no rest to be had unless you’re dead, so one become two

And two never quite work out, and death seems somehow kinder

What was it they said? All things go, this shall pass too

Still you remain, lonely yet not alone, a hunched shadow

You remember what could have been, who you said you’ll become

But all things go, you know, all things go

13.01.2021

Pages

There are pages, yellowed and brittle

Five little pigs and an albatross

Words that mingle and stories that bind

A breath,

 

Then it’s over, but it’s not, really

It’s the next great adventure, waiting,

Hidden, but not forbidden, never forbidden

It’s a wonderland

All things go

But those pages remain

Making us grow and weep and love

We used to be kind, and now we’re wiser!

 

Words, just words, only words

But more than enough

For they’re life

 

25.11.19

Coffee

There’s an itch under her skin

A restlessness that burns

Coffee in her stomach, stars in her vision

She’s good at this game and she’ll win the prize – bones under skin and happiness, surely

 

She smiles and shakes her head

I eat like a bird, she says

But birds have rounded bellies

And she marvels at the downward curves of hers at night, her hunger grumbling like a victory

 

Numbers might elude her

Still she counts all day

That many, that much,

Just enough to stand and walk and talk, just enough to escape the worried scrutiny

 

She’s the walking dead

She’s the starved wolf

She’ll learn to howl someday, perhaps she’ll stop counting too

But she’ll never forget the thrill of raised ribs drowned in coffee

20.06.2019

Some news!

As some of you know, I write. Lately I’ve written quite a lot of poetry, and decided to publish it – terrifying it might be, but sometimes you need to get out of your comfort zone to live fully!

In Cold Blue Light is now available on Amazon! I will give €1 to the Surf Rider Foundation for each ebook sold (full disclosure, it’s 50% of what Amazon will pay me, before taxes)!

If you get it, I would love to know what you thought of it, good and bad! Thanks!!

I’ve also added a Buy Me a Coffee button in the footnote of my blog… any support is welcome to help me create better content & write more!

Greed

The ocean eats the land

(Flat screens and cars)

Where will they go now?

 

Nothing more to fish

(Coffee cups and sushi)

Nothing to make a living

 

No rain, and no hope

(Golf greens and beef)

The Earth so dry it cracks

 

Heatwaves like hellfire

(AC till you freeze)

Or floods like Noah’s

 

Rivers with deadly foam

(so many cool sneakers)

Amidst fields of cotton

 

‘It’s now’, they say, ‘it’s now!

Why do we pay for your sins?’

But… oh, wait, it’s Black Friday!

 

11.10.2018

Peppermint & Chocolate

There’s a quiet kind of joy

That sweeps us off our feet

A ticking clock that soothes

The anxiety in our minds

There’s strength and warmth

But more embers than fire

Ours is such an easy dance

Amazing grace and loving hands

Count your blessings, they say,

And we have got more than enough

Count your blessings, we smile,

For there might be only today

There’s a quiet kind of love

That only whispers to our ears

The clock still ticks the time away

And soon enough we will be grey

There will be tears and hurricanes

So many lines around our eyes

But our love will smell the same

Like peppermint and chocolate

 

25.09.2018

On passion and being good enough

A little while ago, I wrote about my pathetic running and how we were constantly told that our hobbies weren’t worth it if we didn’t excel at them.

Today I wrote a small poem – as usual with me, quite out of the blue – and tweeted it before I could think too much about it. I knew I would find it ridiculously bad as soon as my finger would hit ‘send’.

Which got me thinking.

Soulbrother

We’re the ones that got away
With no regrets – just emptiness
Soulbrother, where are you now?

It was too rough but far too sweet
And addictions find us easy
Soulbrother, where are you now?

Troubled soul, troubled mind
Such a mess we left behind
Soulbrother, where are you now?

There was war, there was pain
It all echoed across the sea
Soulbrother, where are you now?

Ink and booze and empathy
The memories won’t keep us warm
Soulbrother, just keep standing

Got a freckle on my shoulder
You have to know it’s a token
Soulbrother, I’ll keep watch

Storms and rains coming our way
And we’ll weather them just alright
Soulbrother, here comes the end

We raise our glasses to this life
It was so good while it lasted

Soulbrother… where are you now?

 

12.09.2018

On writing, excoriation and growth

I let the tip of my fingers run on my skin. My upper arms. My face. My shoulders. My legs.

Not in a loving way. Not in an erotic way. It’s deliberate and focused. A methodic search for imperfections. Little bumps. Little pieces of skin to pick at. I can’t remember how or when it started. Early teens, probably. I couldn’t explain why I do it. It’s not as if I feel better once I’m done, quite on the contrary in fact.