Seasons of war(The siberian campaign)

 The sacrificial war
dawn black, first light explosion
sweeps across the frontline
hearing loss and awe

pressing forward and robbing the nemesis
of land and resource
The counter attack an expensive acquisition
of fallen weapons and reinforcements

Nearing the line, attracts bullets and shells
eyes focus in to maim and burn and blitz
Fire creeps across the land
frosts melt and storms form

a strange ambition drips down to the lower ranks
Materializing into the fingers attached to hands
that belong to the field commander

Reinventing california

 Hotel game
reinvent california
sunroof iconic car ride
Blue deep with white streaks of cream cheese clouds

restless and spacious
birth until puberty
sun peaking in
a sense of importance rustles
yet never settles

Hotel game 
clerk girl refuses
Property waits to be checked in
The world is in the reception lounge
reinventing california

The manager calls you in
His office cluttered and chaotic
confusion tackles his face
as you explain again
You need room to reinvent california

Ethereal farm

 somewhere in pondland
dreamland
the common man´s heaven

sunlit and heated grass and reptile garden
The compost layered
steaming up

each bed to be planted
scraps scattered
nothing devoid of meaning

god´s whisper tingles and assures the scraps that we are
gently with words that border on opiate driven states
The sun, a father, it´s mere existance pushing life forward

The hoping and knowing inside of faith´s universe
where idiot and architect collide

Our boxes and us

 the forbidden bedroom
abandoned public toilets

anxious box of fifty year old nurses
opened and examined, not spoiled yet

The empty box of chocolates
attempts at pleasure, flavor and the delusional dream

The greyish dull concrete moist with steam
lit by shopfront windows of distrustful clerks

all from ships that ran aground in fleets
and wandering vagabonds settle and get to work

with candyshop grace
It´s a name and a place for renting

a skimming stone bounce a few centimeters
closer to an identity

Old conservatory

 By the conservatory
sporting the cheese cutter

reminiscent of the forties
pink red brick path in
corregated plastic
dampness

Grin and beard
hope toward a future
if you could be like water
just flowing never resisting

stained thick jersey
seaweed sweat
glasses over optimism
philosopher´s pose

falling into the grey area
yet never really leaving the black and white

Years as sandpaper of wear and tear
yet there you are near dusk
near certainty
so close to the worn bricks of that old conservatory

The bullfighter´s veil

 Hi envy
you are full of pomp and honor
if only you had what others have
if only you were what they are

Not prepared to face their challenges
But open to push the phoney notion
of the evil eye or other´s want
and how you say it destroys your success

But envy
when you listen to the envious
their words hit you, not their energy
if you allow them to sabotage you it´s through their actions

But envy your lack of identity
is the only true power you wield

 

Sanity played on the broken flute

 It was a human being
graffitied on the wall
bounced to death, yet still alive

the terror at it´s schizophrenia
judging eyes of the passers by
the people close petrified

That they also might wind up
catching a strange species of brain crazy
one that locked them into alone

awaken to the child´s mindless sabotage
just cooking in the skull oven

society a smirk a mock a tease
Claiming it has no love for these

that the thick layer of desirable specimens
are the only measure of quality

The silent sufferer seldom gives into violence
or even profanity

It´s just people´s personal fear of that fragile
abstract concept of sanity
 

The orphan seedling

 the orphan becomes the father
the sky the earth

treat the true things
that we as tools must learn

A prayer made of hope and fear
loosely sewn together

The orphan sprouts a house and children
The father becomes part of the floor

And he was given 2% of god´s favor

A vetless nobody dog

 The puppy face painted on the pavement
awkward grin gritting up, How dare it
Like a head with no body
a graffitied sentence to death

Fur and options
quarters and blue inverted bridges
Looking up a nobody puppy
No dog body to speak of

In your confusion
as the words concuss you
and the puppy head kiss fusses
until the bones are out of your travel jacket
on your desperate journey home

trying to keep it all in the bag
Those four quarters of the pooch
Sick semblance of what was once living
among the bustle
your unwell concerns stirring the empty stomach
a post war broth
some dog skull surfacing just to be sprayed with salt

Next to my father

 Next to creation
finding oneself through doing

moving traveling

Next to my father
hugging dusk

Building his own night


Next to the stars
piercing twilight

Is that where he will go?

The shape of us

Most of you here reading this, dream of moving

of traveling of being somewhere else soothing

There is an illusion of relief

an oasis effect

an escape even if brief

almost an opiate

Your routine is your title, your clothes, it becomes your skin

your shackles, your prison, your island

You need a halloween, a valium, a reinvention guru on the podium

those daily tasks and chats and weekly out on a limb purchases

equate to mold and dust 

If I could list our incidents of troll like fuss of lack

it would be a deathbed made upon a laiden camel´s back

Humour is those quirky attempts at the unpredictable

straying out of the fossil self, squeezing the addrenaline glands

forraging for stimuli

From the sperm to the egg
from the hospital gurney to the dirt bed