My house

I have got a musical door
Which sings all day long
The tiniest rumors
Ever heard through a keyhole.

I have got a well polished floor
Which would shake her own knees
Dancing twist all night long
Should she be freed from gravity

I have got all my windows curious
About the morning traffic outside
Cars, dogs, people and trucks
but I find them alright 
since they have never ceased
to give light

In my house I made room
For a dog who has the habit to howl
At the moon requesting To be shown
where in the night she has hidden his bone

Fall

She was filled with the sweetness
Of summer memories
Yet her face was wrinkled
Due to the premonition of winter.
She fell gently at the root
Of her own tree of life
And prayed that her flesh
Would feed the young shoots.
She thought that fall
Could not be too bad
If in her leaving she was
Given the chance to be reborn
As the seed of a new tree of life

morning drive/joyfully yours

each morning i drive
on the same road
and though know where it takes me
i have never been bored

each day the spiders
have woven their nets
high up in the air
looking for innocent pray

the sun works every day
at piercing the dark
with a bundle of rays
illuminating the path

the school bus reliably stops
at the railway, while children
are waiting to get our in the world
and make this day joyfully theirs

marry the moon

i have married the blue sky
and i have married the ocean
at the same time
and i did not realize
at the start they were one.
now i am caught
in a permanent swing
between the depths and the highs
the serene and the dark
my name is the moon
and i am ready to sing
for all bathed
in doubts and in light

gam zu le-tovah

gam zu le-tovah
said the ish gamzu
and he was right
or he was going to be right

his optimism would lead 
the way his life went by
shaping the future
from the beauty in his eye

Florence - the storm

while life flows down the river path
from dawn to dusk
poetry is going to hit you with a wave
as strong as the storm
you harbor in your soul

She is going to stir the clouds
and spin the possibilities
like a hurricane blows
the winds of change
she wants to make

and through the whirlwind
that you must withstand
you will learn to see through
its very eye  into the future
And find the peace that it can bring

one

she is seldom heard
and she thinks this is all well deserved
she's seldom seen
and she never thought this as mean
she may never be grand
but the one things she has
going for her and keeping her going
is the fact that she cares
and she knows she can get
problems solved
when others cannot
if only she'll rid
herself of doubts
and have faith

this is not a poem

it is a gift of love
of learning and exhaustion
of learning to live with it
whatever & However heavy it is;
to carry the flame
into the future
fly onTO the wings of hope
AND JUMP towards NIKE

Paris in June

Paris in June
Was spinning in high heels
Amidst tourists
Beating the gray asphalt path

The air was bright
And smelled of soothing linden
While the motorcycle sounds
circle around the triumphAL arch

Beyond the antique merchants
The Seine was flowing serene
Almost Washing the feet
Of Notre Dame and Saints Chapelle

And all theses sweet perfumes
And memories That taste of chocolate
They could turn to smoke 
unless they're shared

summer

in this summer of battling giants
in the arena of free open air
we breath respite and we let ourselves
be covered by showers of small flowers

the complex wonders they work
through the alchemy of generosity
where friends Are mostly real
and enemies are in large parts imaginary

And if daVid never quite understood
the power of the little flower
he seeded all the buds of hope
we need to carry when we climb our mountains

to escalate AND See the sights 
from the shoulders of giants
one needs to walk the path in righteousness
and love and not in wrath;

together will find peace this summer
we will turn the arena of free open air
from its scope of battling GIANTS
and mercenaries to a dance ARENA we hope

 

love

it is the answer
no question
it is what pumps
the blood
through the veins
it is what dissolves
loneliness
into laughter
it is the curious head
of a child
up in the morning
asking
for a hearty breakfast
for the
brain

it is the answer
no question
to hunger
and to misstrust
it is the magic
cream that
heals the wounds
it is the wound
that heals itself
opening up
towards the otside
living for others.
satiated
by the need to give
even if it means
tipping the world
off-balance

Come through for me

Come through for me
Come true to me
Restore the joy
Of honesty and faith
For once , for all
Let the world ring
Its wake up call
Let truth be told
And freedom reign

Cypress trees

You would think
They are always on their knees
And softened by the misty water
At their feet
And yet they rise
Towards the sky
And see their future
In bright lights
Theirs is the flexibility of youth
Theirs is the hard core
That keeps their spines up straight
When heavy winds come blow
They know this too shall pass
And wait on peace
Cause what’s an hour
For the cypress trees

Everybody’s poems

It was a humid night

And it rained lots of love 

And when we woke up

It was raining light

So the seeds of the poems

Planted last night

Grew up like weeds

At the side of the road

There is no shame

To bend down

Pick some up

To flavor your cooking

There is so much light

They should be growing 

Poems in everybody’s yard

Together with grass

Mustang Lady

Mustang lady

She rode a yellow mustang

Her voice was speckled with dust

But her words flowed like honey 

And she had a knack for holding

The reins real tight, a sweet way

That barely upset anybody 

Who’s ever been around her 

To see her and love her

and survive with their soul never

Intact - but touched by the 

Lady who rode the yellow mustang 

April Breeze

April breeze

Love is the blushing petal

That carves its way up

In the cold April wind

Towards the sun

sweet

she is like molasses
and she sweetens your soul
she makes your world twirl
in a whirlwind of song

under her dark curls
she sparks smiles
and she shoots giggles
to highlight the skies

she flies low, she flies high
her energy could power
a rollercoaster
and she tempers is down

with the gentlest of hugs
with her most caring questions
she sweetens your soul
that she melted into molasses

artichoke fields

I have had the fortune

Of walking among fields

Of blooming artichokes

While holding in my arms

Ever so tight my newborn son

And since the earth could feel

How insecure 

the steps I took all were 

it turned the path

To soft and gentle mud

So if even we’d fall 

we would be welcome 

in it’s warm embrace 

As is looked down

Into the cuddle to my son 

his budding red haired head 

emerged, his eyes

Looked sharp and pointed up

Towards the vast serenity

Of sky and sun

Then with his tiny hand

And growing soul

He hugged me back

Since then I know

That even if we fall

We’ll be alright

We’d help and pick 

each other up

To walk with our spirits

Twice in strength 

Towards the future

And the light it holds

With cheer and hope

we will move forward

on our separate paths

and still be bound

By sky and mud alike 

And the the blooming artichokes 

The fields have had 

balanced flow

everything goes round
as air flows through the lungs
and blood flows through the heart
so does
love flow through the veins
life flow through the heart
light flow through the brain
and then
it shoots in a rainbow
as water sinks in the ground
and humble grass grows
cause all
deserve to learn and grow
and owe to teach what they know
share with the young
light a spark
until the young grow
and learn how things flow
and everything goes round

my neighbor

this woman, my neighbor
she has a big heart
as big as a coffee shop
so we all stop by and chat

this woman, she'll adopt
all the neighbors
she makes me wonder
how she can love the whole lot

this women she rescues
pets in distress whom she heals
so they don't limp anymore
but bounce from her arms

i wonder how she has healed
and how many hearts
for neighbors and i bet for the strangers
with whom she imparts joie de vivre

and coffee chats

ode to new

if you are complacent
in the comfort of what you know
how will you grow
the shoots of nascent awe

Nichita's #1

“If one day I would lay my kiss
Onto the soles of your feet
Would you be able to walk
Or would you be afraid
To crush my kiss, and limp a bit?”

Attempt to translate - Nichita Stanescu

lookout

i look forwards to living tomorrow
because tomorrow i will see you
and you will give me incentive to
look forwards to the next tomorrow too

somedays when you are not there
or my friends have rarified in thin air
i just get up because i feel
others may lookout towards me
as i look towards me
i fear of letting them down
so we bootstrap you see
each other you and me

so my friend look forwards to tomorrow
i will give you incentives to
and we will forage for the fast multiplying
wild and hidden love flowers and fruits

sweet and strong

it is hard to stay sweet, it is hard to stay soft
in a world that presses hard on its carbons
hoping they will turn into diamonds
it is hard to stay afire when the storms come
and yet with our lights on, we still glow

we glow hot, and we burn out of patience
if we do not remember to look out
for our siblings and neighbors;
the ones who were tried before us
in hot fires shall teach us

you do what you can and you sail
in the storm cause there are no shelters
for our bodies and souls, unless if we build them.
we look out for our children
feeding on their sweet love, and crying for their pain

it gets easy if we look outside of us and we share
the worlds of our words, the peace of our souls,
the hunger, the food, the thirst and the wine
and if we are really vulnerable,
the dream to stay strong

- this one for Evelyn

whistle

if i whistle in a forest
if i whistle in a dream
if nobody cares to listen
should i whistle still?

if bat my arms at random
when luck throws me in a river
never minding if i shiver
i should hope to learn to swim

if i put my legs in order
one in front of the lazy other
and i start my journey
will it matter?

it will matter if i gather
seeds of love, and seeds of knowledge
to plant along the pathways
that we'll carve inside our forest

i plan to share the journey,
and the love that will be planted
in the songs i will be dreaming
while i am whistling

fire

fire through the veins
through the forest
through the sky
spreading fast
reaching out
with bursts
of light

smoke

A the end of the year you may find
that you have taken a lot of heat
and on the side - you have developed
a special sense to detect smoke.
and if your mind muscles are a bit sore
it is all for better because
you have emerged shiny and strong
from the kiln, and you have learned
that to make your path
towards light you may have
to take heat - sometimes
and you can!

peace

peace springs with your words
out of your mouth
your words are the sprouts
of a bright and kind
future
love spring from your acts
out of your hands
which shape the objects
that we all touch
as we grow
the looks out of your eyes
comes in warm waves
as your embrace molds us
into the the children
of your light

the wisdom of the earth

the soil under our feet
gives us roots,nourishment, and strength
to us who roll our lives forgetful, and tall
scraping its surface
while in its wisdom
it waits quietly, respectful and kind
for some well deserved
return on investment

north migration

I have moved my heart to the north
not much, but enough so that
i would not mind the cold
and the blows of random winds
unless they break trees to the ground.
i hear now the songs of ice
as it expands sending ahead
waves of shivers
but i  have toughened up
for the northeasters
are yet to come
and we still have to learn
to stay alive
with our heads above ground
in the middle of the protective forest
taking example from hardwoods
and evergreens
and farther beyond these,
the modest but of so flavorful
juniper bushes and berries

silence

the piano is suspended in silence
hanging in the air
by an invisible spider thread
and all you can hear are footsteps
muffled by the increasing distance
which only takes them away.

i wonder where did this come from
and for how long i can still hang
without bouncing onto the spider web
to stick up there with the piano
to bang the keys and break the silence
into pieces of crystal of focussed sound

will you spread the sound
fill the surround with love, and light
until the net lets go and we will bounce
float up, with music pieces and all
into the comfortable space
made by the spiders of silence

reflections

some people are like diamonds
they shine
with some of their faces
and their many truths.
they look good in the night
but hurt in the sun

some people are like mirrors
the shine
right back the rays
which hit them
in straight lines of silvery light.
they make no use of the dark

some people are like fire
they shine
from within with the spark
of the light burning inside
sharing their heat equally
with the day and the night

needy poem

every now and then
there comes a need
to read love poems
let them ring deep
in the empty mind
let them fill
the darkness
with light

every now and then
there comes a wish
to sing love
the songs that
it needs
to fill the space
that we inhabit
so we can live

unbroken

some stay unbroken
because they bend
and others stand up
like white knights
on tall horses;
but most break down
in tears or obedience;
their dreams
running down
with the sewage
and streaming
into wide oceans.

there at the edge
between real and eternity
you find them;
at times riding the waves,
at times rolling with fish
and other strange
creatures.
the rebels
keep trying
to stand up
on their boards
unbroken.

woman

there was a strange woman
who lived down the street
she wore her best gowns
when she planted the seeds
of beautiful flowers

she built herself a garden
when all silent neighbors
were tending the lawns
laying ruly and low (green and boring)
under their feet.

she taught kids about music
and piano sonatas
and crazy forgotten traviattas
i am sure she was lonely
and i hope she was sweet


she has gone north
with the wind
the strange woman
who left us the flowers
of wonder, right at our feet

wind

it is not in my power
to break your silence
or to flap your wings
but i can whistle and blow
and raise the high winds
for you to feel
the desire to fly;
or i can silence and wait
till you feel the blade
of green grass
cutting through the dark
and into the light
and wait for the star
that you are to be born
shinning and clad
from the heat of the hearth

the gift

i give you
a rich imagination
it is a precious gift
as well as a liability
so you will often need
reality checks

if lost - you will be able
to find a path
and if a gap
interrupts your path
you will be able
to build a bridge

if lonely
you will find
a dense net
connecting
from heart
to heart
to a friend

do not fall
in love with wizards
and leprechauns
do not kiss
countless frogs
but stick to your friends

for i have given you
a rich imagination
as a gift, as well as liability
a need to hold hands with your friends
a hunger to laugh and to forget
that you need reality checks

lift

when everything falls apart
you may decide to fall to the base
and there at ground level to seek
and nurture the roots

when everything falls
you too may fall
swinging together
in  dance for a while

allow yourself a little rest
to feed on the bitter roots
gather the strength to climb
the stem of  magic bean stalks

lift up into the light
empowered by the knowledge
imparted at the base
of what will be your tree

forwards

you make me think forwards
you make me think open
you make me dream
and think in terms of we
i like to think that
i also make you thinks forwards
and open, and that you
dream in resonance of we
taking small steps forwards
fearless into the open
preparing to move through leaps
boundless alternates to strings;
the only strings and equilibrium points
i need lie in you hands
give me your hands
stretch to reach besides your grasp
i will lift you, and you will lift me
and we'll make all the rivers dance

this i believe

i believe
that giving makes you free
to move on to other things;
that teaching is the supreme
form of giving;
that working together
is better than racing
against each other.
i believe you can create
in harmony and trust
and hope that we can 
all get better at what we do.
i believe in learning
at any age;
and in receiving advice
from the wise;
i believe in the need
to trust
i trust you if i can feel
your shoulder can lift
a bucket of water from the well
or that you are working at it;
i believe in the need to love
what you do
and that you can create love
for it is an action
and we are what we do
i believe not in me, nor in you
i do believe wholeheartedly
in we. this i believe.

make stuff up

make stuff up
do -whatever happens
build with your hand
share, open up
dare defend
and win the attack
and if you get there
do not forget
yourself when you started up
let the weak
lift the small voice up
let growth happen
towards light

rather i'd rather

i'd rather be naive
than convoluted;
straightforwards
works just fine
for me; for as long
as i am not afraid
of vulnerability.

i'd rather hurt
than be indifferent
i'd rather give
than be forever hollow,
so will you please
give me your hand
and trust?

let's dare step
on hot sand
in the sun
and dance
with the wave
for we can solve
all problems as one

- this one for Bushu

up

play your song
play it loud
there may be a chance
you can still wiggle out
the spark that buds in your heart
there is still a chance
to light up the colors
in a perfect sixth
and shoot them up
in a rainbow

forwards

sometimes
you walk alone
your soul is hollow
your light is low

sometimes
you meet a man
who lends a hand
and lights a spark

the world lights up
your fire's kindled
the wind is strong
and lifts your life

it's but a dance
and please remember
at times to pay your debts
forwards

What is it which gets old within us (2)

What is it which gets old within us

by Lucian Blaga

(in my imperfect translation)

What is it which gets old within us,

that unexpectedly makes us rise one morning

With the desire to hide

Name and face?

What is it which gets old within us,

that when we reach the twilight

makes us find out that we belong to the past,

estranged from contemporaries, fog's shadows?

It surely cannot be the pulsating blood

nor the beating heart, the passion, or spirit,

nor the echoes reverberating in our ears,

but only the tear

for old men cry old tears

i have learned a new language

i have learned a new language
so that i could understand
the words of your songs;
so please sing them to me now
while i can still hear
the trill

What is it which gets old within us

by Lucian Blaga (in my imperfect translation)

What is it which gets old within us,
that unexpectedly makes us rise one morning
With the desire to hide
Name and face?

What is it which gets old within us,
that when we reach the twilight
makes us find out that we belong to the past,
foreigners among today, shadows in the fog?

It surely cannot be the pulsating blood
nor the beating heart, the passion, or spirit,
nor the echoes reverberating in our ears,
but only the tear
for old men cry old tears

crescendo

your worries should lie low
your songs shall softly
rock a baby cradle now
your hearts shall beat in unison
while water waves shall
gently touch their banks to flow

the ocean waves should come and go
to sandy shores they bring homage
to boats they bring the force they need
so smoothly sail my love
ahead of fears and towards dreams
untouched by webs of mermaid spells

today you have your song to sing
your voice i want to hear
as it will rise above the chorus whispers
while the silver girl you accompanied here
shall touch the strings and help you weave
the fabric of your dreams

rain/to keep the light flowing

some days are plain gray
and it feels like there is not
enough love in the world;
just wind whistling,
aimless leaves rustling
on cracked pavement

some days start green
and you wake up and think
if i am the only love
left in the world
must i not do something
to kindle the fire we need?

and if your light seeds
the night sky with stars
and if the sky starts pouring
tears on the ground
while a hand touches a hand
the grass will start growing

to keep the light flowing

hip hop

I may not be hip
but i am certainly hoppy
i may be indian pale,
brown or golden
but always on
the bitter side
i am an ale
an ageless ale

I used to be
brewed by alewives
with secret mixtures
of herbs and spice
sweet gale and sage
and the sap of pine
a bit of wormwood
and yarrow and broom

I have been safe to drink
for the belligerent knights;
at their tables
when the water was stale
and truly a danger
but did not last on long trips
with lone sailors
and could not shorten their travels

then hops came along
and i got a new life
infused with the youth
of ginger and orange
i am an ale,
be bitter or sweet
I may not be hip
but i am certainly hoppy

night

i have to catch up with the night
lately is has been passing in fast flight
its strong wings batting at my dreams
rustling them to come out through the seams

10 years of blogging

10 years of blogging!

xmas card

In the middle of winter i write to thank you for the joy and light, for your hard work to be the best that you might be thank you for the curious eyes and for the magic happening when simple acts of listening make songs arise thank you for the spring you put into the step of those you touch and if it's not too much for being generous and kind i wish the wind will always blow just right and if it doesn't that you shift your tack; and hope that all the love you give will multiply when it comes back!

- with thanks to PJ

puzzle me

puzzle me, be unexpected
whatever you want, but be
in the sunshine, in the open
there is place for you, and me

sweet dreams

i can knit a dream of rainbows
i can knit a dream of dew
i can knit a dream of sunshine
i can knit a dream of you

but the question than arises
coming from my love for you
if you are tired and you need it
can i knit a dream for you?

will you let me, will you do it?
if you share this time with me,
we'll be swinging by the moon rays
in between the do, re, mi.

sweet dreams

i can knit a dream of rainbows
i can knit a dream of dew
i can knit a dream of sunshine
i can knit a dream of you

but the question than arises
coming from my love for you
if you are tired and you need it
can i knit a dream for you?

will you let me, will you do it?
if you share this time with me,
we'll be swinging by the moon rays
in between the do, re, mi.

sweet dreams

i can knit a dream of rainbows
i can knit a dream of dew
i can knit a dream of sunshine
i can knit a dream of you

but the question than arises
coming from my love for you
if you are tired and you need it
can i knit a dream for you?

will you let me, will you do it?
if you share this time with me,
we'll be swinging by the moon rays
in between the do, re, mi.

a song piece for Nick

this is not a poem, this is a memory
of a high school friend
whose name i cannot remember
although it could well have been Nick

what i do remember is a pair
of large and dark eyes,
mostly quiet, and perhaps a tad shy
and i also remember a bunch of kids
sitting a little too high
on school benches
or sliding rather quietly
on the dark corridors
in their blue indigo uniforms

the reason i write is the sound
my friend made
in front of these seemingly
ready to mock, or to laugh
or to love common friends
you see he was mostly quiet
my friend, but from 3-5
he was part of a rock band
and then and there he could scream
he could shout, and let it all out
and one day, just because
i had asked he showed off his sound
without fear of the laughter,
mocking, or  love

i hope my dear friend
you can find your rock band
i hope you can find your loud voice
to scream it all out
i enjoy the sound that you make
i hope you not fear the mocking,
the laughter, the love
that you 'll get
in your face , or your heart

a song piece for Nick

this is not a poem, this is a memory
of a high school friend
whose name i cannot remember
although it could well have been Nick

what i do remember is a pair
of large and dark eyes,
mostly quiet, and perhaps a tad shy
and i also remember a bunch of kids
sitting a little too high
on school benches
or sliding rather quietly
on the dark corridors
in their blue indigo uniforms

the reason i write is the sound
my friend made
in front of these seemingly
ready to mock, or to laugh
or to love common friends
you see he was mostly quiet
my friend, but from 3-5
he was part of a rock band
and then and there he could scream
he could shout, and let it all out
and one day, just because
i had asked he showed off his sound
without fear of the laughter,
mocking, or  love

i hope my dear friend
you can find your rock band
i hope you can find your loud voice
to scream it all out
i enjoy the sound that you make
i hope you not fear the mocking,
the laughter, the love
that you 'll get
in your face , or your heart

puzzle me, and let it be

puzzle me, be unexpected
whatever you want but be
in the open, in the sunshine
there is place for you, and me

trust

learn to trust
and learn to give
to those who might be
surprised or in need

be mindful
that you do not walk alone
be graceful
with your fellow travelers

be one with your true self
and be ready to change
give, love, and be ready
to never know

if you are the true giver
or should be the grateful receiver
walk straight and take
some time to breath -love

nobody

i am nobody
but the wind calls my name
the water washes my head
and my breath, just like yours
pushes my life right ahead
by your side

we might as well
hold each other's hand
in times of trouble
exchange a smile
in times like heaven

how else
should we stay sane
when they shoot horses elsewhere
and my small mind
cannot comprehend

why hate
when you can love
why march
when you can dance
why kill
when you can give
love
music
live

i look at you and learn
to grow values from within
only turn out what is worth
bringing to light
and if i am nobody
my voice can still
shout in the wind
and i can wash
all the dirt than i see
while i breath

leave me

leave me the time
and leave me the hope
that i can climb up on a rope
swing out of the cave
to find the light in your sight
the silence and sounds that unite
the peace in our dream
the person you seem
the peace that has been
the slow breath of the ocean
and the path in the sand
we were planning to craft
from the many repeats
of our walks;

leave me the memory
of the jump and the flight
the descent and the cool
of the water around
and the peace of the dark,
then the bubbles surrounding
the rising and the power
to repeat it
all over again

leave me
your hand
in my hand
your forehead
by mine
and a picture
to retrive
the glimpse
of time past

night magic

The night was clear, the air was light
and as i raised my arms i felt it lift me up
towards the moon, towards the stars
i found my path though it was dark
towards the light

architecture of the future

summon the force
that keeps your spine straight
summon the love
that feeds your steps
summon the hand
of a friend
stand tall on chalk
feel the fire than runs
through the veins
and run towards
the future with all
that you have
in common
then build it
as you have dreamt

the future is bright
with arches so tall
as you have planned
its foundation
with all that you have done
before

with a bit of luck
the phoenix of hope
and redemption
will add a tower
and a flag

what can i do

what can i do
to keep you near and dear
as i am swallowed by the past?
perhaps to shout
and hope that you will hear my voice
above the white noise of the space around?
an echo, here and there
to slice the night.
perhaps to send an image
on a butterfly
with a quick flutter of a wing?
a mix of colors
to awake the art.
perhaps to try and draw out
in a bucket from the well
the twirling memory of
thirst for water from the past.
will it bring back
the soreness of our muscles
when we rowed, the swollen legs
when we run up and down the mountains
or in the burning sand,
the flashing lights of summer nights?
the list i made is long, the time is short
and sometimes i would like to turn
those lists into the sounds of echoes
(and shout them out and loud)
so that they come back

bound

i am bound to chains
made of all sorts of constraints
bound to paths
built for fast dreams
bound to explode
because there is so much light
in your eyes
that it cannot be contained

bird on a perch

look at me tenderly
because i am but a bird
in the palm of your hand
you could squish me
if you just tighten your fist
and my heart is beating
just a tad faster than you think;
and yet i look at you
lovingly and i think
that you are like the wind
stable under my wing,
that i enjoy the perspective
i can see from this perch
the light i can see in your eyes
from where i decided to sit ;
i am satisfied with the taste
and the texture of the grains of thought
you occasionally feed.
i am not saying it loud
but you may know
that birds are quick to  take flight
and some of us even swim
alone, brave and remote
facing hunger and cold.
which is why we should
both enjoy this fragile moment
at the right balance between
the past and the future
this bridge that we build
you with the hope i shall sing,
me with the hope you can sit
still and stable and able
to hear the trill.
thank you for giving me
hope and time to heal,
now if you would let go
i will be back tomorrow
if you will still know me
and i shall search within
to find the right song
you have been wishing for.

night line

it was the height of the night
and i was fleeing trying to find
my way home at that time
when the old man appeared
with a group of followers around

"where are the elevators baby" he asked
and i noticed he was tall, black and white
and his voice sounded terribly kind
so in my turn i asked to hear it again
"where are the elevators baby" he said

and i heard the smile in his voice
the silence in the fluttering skirts
and shirts of the people around
i gave them the answer pointing
to the locked glass doors

the joyful group trickled in
and dissapeard through the doors into light,
with a glimpse i saw after they left
the smile in the painting resembled
the tall man, black and white

the gift

he brought his gift out in his hand
curling his fingers onto the strings
tickling them gently to make the sound
that went round and round
the room until they found
the darkest chamber of the listening heart

and there it planted the blossoming seed
of pure light, the river of light
that flooded the veins
shooting the skies
branching with colors
the beautiful rainbow of sound

morning hope

hope is
when you await light
as if darkness never had any chance
of crushing you
hope is
when you wash your face
of all terror and blink
to bring out the hero
hope is
when you step out the gate
on a very small road
to walk farther than ever before
hope is
when you open the door
and warm up the light
which travels between you and your neighbor

resonance

as you walk your path
into a forest that's dark
craddle me in your thoughts
sing to me as if i was there
and maybe somehow a string
will resonate somewhere
close enough to induce
waves of joy all the way
into my thoughts
as if you were here.
can you hear
the echoes of my heart
my dear?
see the path?

mother

mother - though it may not be apparent
she is in fact the perfect image
of a soldier of love
she wakes up every day
ready for punches
she takes them,
then back she bounces.
there are but two rules
in this long time endeavor:
there is not protection
and no misdirection
you just take the blow,
you stand up for as long as you can
you occasionally fall
and most important of all
you bounce back up
if you are able at all.
don't bother to tell her
what she already knows
she will shake her head
with a smile
to minimize the importance
the vastness of this ocean
of time, energy, battles
of love.

ripples of change

My friend - know
that you have the power
to change yourself!
And even more
you can change those
whom you touch
with your presence.
When this happens
You won't even know
so watch what you do
because your gesture
can plant a seed
of love or revenge
depending on what you think
and the soil where it is received.
I for one thank you
for putting the spring in my step
the pen in my hand
for if it was not for you
being here in the moment
there would have been
no point for all the ripples
and wrinkles in time and in space
at least not as far
as i am concerned.

carpe

the fruit that you want
you need to reach your hand out
for it and grab
or even better you need to
take a shovel and and a seed
dig and plant
and care for its fruit
to bear

for what you want
if don't do
most probably
won't come about

if you don't do it
it does not happen
my child

environmental math

i fear my friends
we have an ill posed problem to solve
and while we cannot really measure it well
there is not anymore enough love in the world.
just think in terms of it being like water
there is only so much to go around
and we are growing in numbers
we will just have to purify and to share

energy drain

please take it away
take the peaks of the noise
the edge of the blows
extinguish for a while
the fire at the tips
of these fingers

let some of the energy drain
on the dance floor,
on the pavement
on the ocean wave
take some away
for those in need
we'll give the sweat
of our palms
the song in our voice
and mostly for those
we truly love
a patch from
the tapestry of a dream

we welcomed it within
and we gladly let out
this breath that keeps us alive
we move from inside
to the edge of the universe
vibrating right back
the stories of the night
shall commence
their aerial dance

sedona

the sun set the stones on fire
they baked in front of his fury for ages
they patiently bended his anger
till the calmer days came;
the wind blew hard his lungs out
strong as the need for change in spring
unwillingly he peeled the fragile layer
of plants when he did so;
but they waited unclothed for warmer days;
the rain washed the composting remnants
in her attempt to forget the thirst of the summer,
and left them looking like new

and now they just lie, with their rounded backs
their bones strong, and somehow still ready to crumble
the unnecessary bits if one of the Gods demand sacrifice
pure, and red, and barren for most
awaiting whatever elements come their way
with the forehead up high, facing the sun
the rocks of Sedona

resilient like the prayer of an old man
fresh like the hope of a child
beautiful like adolescents
ageless they seem
the red rocks of Sedona

The soul of the village
 Lucian Blaga

Girl, put your hands on my knees
I think eternity was born in the village
Here all thoughts are slower
And your heart pumps more seldom
As if it were not beating within your chest,
But deep down underground.
Here can be healed the thirst for redemption
And if your feet are bleeding
Just sit on humid ground.
Now that the evening comes
The soul of the village flies nearby
Like the aroma of freshly cut grass
Like smoke rising from the straw roofs
Like a dance of young animals on high tombs.

translated from Romanian by Alexandra Badea

magic morning

magic morning on Erwin
when the icy sheet sublimates
to let the giant's breaths rise
towards the morning sun
through the pores in the ground
from the place where he sleeps

the morning started with
funnels of dancing mist
gently twirling in the sun
to the happy music brought about
when springs bursts through
the gates of winter with her laugh

lift your eyes
from the ground to the sky
switch palettes from brown to blue
and then again, from yellow to green
when the cover of his bed he changes
the giant called Erwin

Two of Ana's wishes:

1. ride dragons
2. go in outer space, where there is 0 gravity.

the moon's negligence

the moon lies down her bedsheets
on my lawn sometimes;
i know because it the morning
i can gather the stars
that dropped of her hair
as she combed it at sunrise;
i gather the stars - always a little too late;
being afraid to wake up crickets and birds,
and the stars that remain are invariably
turned into dew drops jewels or margarets.
switch off the lights and welcome the moon
to lay down her silky white sheets
in your gardens sometimes
and please do let her rest.

the storyteller

he came riding into town on a horse
turned white by the dust or perhaps
by the mere purity of his heart.
he wanted to share stories of his land
and people would listen and chat
and learn to speak the same words
from town to town; while all he got
was a few words for thanks and a couple
of coins, enough to last
so he can ride out to the next town.

the seeds of the stories he planted
they grew into vines, with flowers and fruits
that now connect all these towns
and the chidlren who tell of his stories
are somehow happily tied
with invisible chains of friendship
linking their hearts
into a similar dance, which they can
all dance in a world
where distance only matters at times.

the singer

his salty voice filled the piazza
his guitar working the rhythm
the children were used to stomping their feet,
their humming spreading all over town

the wind they created got strength to push
the cyclists up the hill,
rising their dreams bathed in sweat
above the clouds that limit the mind.

the dust from the motorcycles
did not dare stain the clothes hung out to dry
while he sang his heart out,
with stories he met in his travels or sleep

the girls turned pretty, and just as strong
as the boys because he sung their powers
in his songs. the boys dared to dream,
unashamed, just like girls - of a brighter tomorrow.

many children learned to take their firs steps,
and some even grew old enough to exchange
a first kiss, while he sung his stories
for a couple decades in salty voice, in the piazza.

bring about your vision

dare to bring about your vision
in front of our eyes
and work to restore its
harmonious fluttering wings
with the needle of a reality check;
care to build a harmonious body
for your vision, so it can swiftly
navigate her boat through crystal water
craft a course and catch the wind.
bring your rowers if the waters ever turn
angry , and give yourself a second chance
tame, tame please this world
so it can peacefully dream in the night
a white vision that we will not be ashame of
when it dances in front of the eyes
of our children,

the soul has a house

the soul has a house
with windows shaped like eyes
nose, ears and lips
through which music flows
in and out, like a breeze
making the tingling thoughts dance

the heart has a drum
to catch the beats and the rhytms
of lifes streams and torrents
and it lives and gives life
to the noises we carry
and exchange with dear ones

the leg has a foot
to beat a path that lies ahead
to execute the dance borne by the music
in somebbdy's head
let this be you, my darling you
be the shepherd of your thoughts and life