Grudge

Yes, I bear a grudge.
It's big. It's huge
and it's making me grind my teeth
as I try to get some sleep
late at night.

No, I'm not all right.
There's a smudge in our lives
A stain on my cloth,
as, for sure,
on those of many - countless - other wives.

True, I am not certain
How much of the mess I created
What part of the fault
is my own.
Still, at night,
when I feel weighed down
by this burden
it is you I envisage
when I inadvertedly frown


as if you were a cruel
little mischievous child
and I
a poor, professional clown.

Worthless words

These are words I put together,
words I could not say.
Words made of my imperfection
like almost visible stuff
I try to protect
from the light of day.

But it is useless
both to hide and to reveal them.

Who the hell reads poetry anyway?

Rotten within

You're fresh, full of life,

others wish they were you.
Why moan about the weather
when you're sheltered and safe?


You say you don't, but you do.
You fasten yourself to a tether,
choose bitterness, strife,
and misery too.

Beastly beauty

In all of us
without exception
- and that's the beauty of it -
there's a bit of spark,
a bit of dust.

In me and you
alike
there's something beautiful
we can trust
and something awful too,
a terrible truth
to lie about.
There's colour and life
till blindless
and stillness
strike.

In us and them,
there's all and nothing,
no doubt.
The question is merely
what's in
and what's out.

Hang in there

Photo by Nuno Pavão

Hang in there,
I say to myself
even if you feel like an old book
yellowing away on a shelf.
Hang in there,
I whisper to me
even if you feel like an old leaf
hanging half dead from a tree.
Hang on,
I say,
don't let go.

You're alive
and that's bliss

be grateful
for light and joy
but also
for pain and woe.

Giving for a living

Photo by Nuno Pavão















Everyday,
everywhere,
there's a chance for us to give.

When we choose
not to look,
not do dwell on it,
not to think, so we can live,

our lives may carry on,
we may believe we get somewhere,
we accomplish what we want.
But happiness, bliss, true peace inside?
Not a chance.
Not until we give with joy and pride.

Inconvenient me

Photo by Nuno Pavão

Inconvenient me

Indiscreet and loud

Saying either too many words
or the wrong ones

Spinning a web of futility
with my big mouth.

Wind in the pines

Wind in the pines,

you sing to me

such soothing lines...

The doves on their arms

know not of the charms

that their songs,

along with yours,

actually possess.

Truly,

your almost inaudible cries

feel like a caress.

Written silence

No comments.

No value
No interest
Nothing
worth noticing,
Not a word
to be wasted?

No comments.

No joy
No pleasure
Nothing to treasure
In your heart,
Not a sight
From where it might be difficult
To depart?

No comments.

Not a clue
As to how I should react,
As to how I should address you.
No vocabulary
No grammar
Can help me get through.

GAMES PEOPLE PLAY

Games people play:

I want to talk

but I never listen

to what you have to say.

And your silent refrains

are no match

for my legitimate complaints.

Games people play:

I try not to judge

but there you go again...

why do you have to be that way?

And your sensible advice

is useless to me,

so don't give it twice.

Games people play:

I do what I do,

you do what I say.

Disbeliever

I live in the dark,
you say.

Well, I am accustomed to it
and, thank you, I can find my way.

As to the light
you offer to cast
upon my life,
I find it far too strong and blinding
for my material eyes.

Welcome

Welcome,

my prince, my life, my joy.

I hope I can make you happy,

my sweet little boy.

A teacher's complaint

Miss them already.

I worry and complain...
Feel, sometimes,
that I'm going insane.
I grumble and moan,
Wish I could run away
and be alone.

But when they're all gone
from my life,
When I realise
I mean nothing to them
And they don't give a shit,
I can't avoid the water
Running to my eyes
And wish I could quit.

I'd love to be a man

I’d love to be a man
even if just for one day.

To be able to sit back
and relax
while pots and pans stir,
the scent builds up
(“what a lovely combination:
the kitchen and her!”)
and a meal is created
like pure magic.

To be the one to ask
with a nonchalant smile
“what’s for dinner today?"
And hear my sweet,
priceless wife say:
"your favourite, dear" –
Her grudges and rage
well tucked away
under layers of tame, tame love
(not fear).

Oh, yes.
I’d love to be a man
in a man’s world.
To be the hungry,
lazy wolf
pampered by a dove.

HEY

You, out there,
on the other side!

Nice to know you care,
even though you tend to hide…

I know I’m not alone,
I feel your presence.
And it brings me such comfort,
such solace,
That even with no sign from you,
I sense your essence.

elusion

I've written so much
and yet

words elude me
like grains of sand
slipping through my fingers.

NOT TOO LATE

Let me out of this darn cell.

I've been in my head for too long,
I'm tired of putting up with me.

I've found no reason to stick to this mind,
This is definitely not who I want to be.

I've still got some life left, so please,
while I'm still sane, allow me to be free.

Me

A miracle,
an accident,
a speck in time.

An incredible experience
a trip on the planet
which might result in victimhood
or in crime.

CURSE

Cursed be the men who hanged him
for they are no better than he.

When I take your life for taking the lives of others
For good and evil, we are bound as brothers.

PATHOS

s
s
s
(Illustration by Rien Poortvliet)

s
s

There is something poetic
about my death
Something outrageously beautiful
about my very last breath.


Audaciously sad,
this longing to grieve
my own pain
rejoicing at the thought of others
mourning in vain.

I am curious
about this suffering
I and they
will have to endure.



But to draw any conclusions
at this stage
would be premature.