My Poems in 2011

The Staircase


the spiral stairs banister is rusty
spiders are hidden in the corners
pigeons hustle and bustle can be heard in the attic
the old plaster smelling like sour cabbage
loses stripe after stripe absorbing autumn mist
through round and small windows

the old man fell asleep early
he played all day long with lotto pieces
counting and shuffling them many times
now he cannot make the difference
between a white and a red poppy on the lapel

the old woman forgot the rum essence flavor
she baked pancakes putting inside a drop of acetone
filling them with one year old quince jam
placing everything on a nickel silver plate
starting to knit again a large brim hat
adorned with strawberries and cornflowers

their grandsons came shaking the staircase
from its foundations
there was much more sunlight at every window
the children whistling in clay flutes
threw away the pancakes to the dog
sharing between them the lotto pieces
and the jam left in the jar

many colored yarn balls rolled downstairs
until they reached the first floor

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Pink Cameo


a bird is resting beyond the road
it’s snowing for centuries over her wings
bird’s claws are piercing the ground
new scales begin to grow thicker
I’m afraid to look in the mirror
there’s no one left to tell my troubles to

some walls are like storm clouds
blue crevices come out of the blues
a spider sleeps inside an old mandolin
all drawers are crackling from inside
the candlestick got stuck in wax
the everlastings shed their petals

my stomach burns from thirst and cold
I’m wrapping around me a checkered blanket
hunting sunlight specks with my plastic horse
sipping my pink tea under dawn eyes
when cherry blossoms cover every legend
I’m galloping like the knight in a tiger’s skin

in the room nearby
palm tree leaves are strewn on the floor
covered with antiquarian dust
beyond the road it smells like jasmines
dreams always take a longer breath

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Winter Scent


I’m sitting on my bed. The terracotta stove begins to warm up. It is the first winter fire in my house. A small black spider jumps into the iron poker. I am leaning on my back, my eyes follow the ceiling crevices. This might have been a heavy rain wound, its seared scars deepen year after year. On the floor a knife hides among apples in a whisker basket. Suddenly I am aware that I lay down between attic and cellar. I feel trapped, cloaked in the apples’ scent, drifting…

cellar stairs –
an autumn apple
falls back

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Rain Wings


a book opened at once
the window opens widely
magic wheels of colors turn again
inside child’s eyes round forest skirts

the rain stopped tuning
its harp with knotted strings
hidden between rambling clouds
lady Vivien’s story dripped in the lake
dreams are growing on the rainbow’s stem
another spring day hurts tree cores
new buds jump out from steely branches
maiden’s heart clings to lime tree leaves
pierced with candy sugar light
her silvery long hair entangled among willows
is swept by winds into the wild mint field
whispers gather in dandelion seeds
melting on top of wet black berries
near the house corners
covered with moss

under the old oak
grass colors fade slowly
brown and yellow butterflies fall
over a closed story book
entranced for ever

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Tacit


rolling head over heels
until I didn’t stop against the wall
I said just enough „no
for fitting in a moth eye
attracted by a blind lamp

why” doesn’t matter anymore
so many question marks turn into points
between retina and brain
the road is too short

I traced only straight lines
from now on I will erase the asymptotes
like annelids
without articulations

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