Et tu Brute?

Walking the dog as usual -
trash can day in the neighborhood
glimpsed a proud container
with the name BRUTE.
Philosophized over the name -
everything is now mega
or giga or monster in the US
not nano, minute, BRUTE.
Do the namers of this can
knows where it comes from
murder, treason, hate, con, hon,
glorifying the raw Brutal power.
What an ungentle way to start
a trash can day's walk with the dog.
Instead of naming it BRUTE
how about MOTHER?

The Rape's progress

Brushing off her tattered cape
from the snowy wintry day
the Völva Vigga looked forlorn
on the stark barren meadow
just outside her naked forest
she shivered - it was a chill.
Inside her bear-lined coat
with beaver boots on her feet
she melted and felt comfortable.
Her morning perambulations
took her out in her faraway world,
from Yggdrasil slowly growing
to the tinselled town close by
she looked at the two worlds
musing melodiously that they
would never really to become one.
The town with its timbered roofs
and its glorified glowing shops
the streets lined with green laces
in form of garlands and light bulbs
compared to the quiescent quietude
of her wide forest filled with morass
moss, ditches, depressions, brooks,
only the hinterland animals to be heard.
Her world shone beautifully ,
chillingly and she willingly admitted
that unless you were fay
or of the animal kingdom
it would be hard to survive - but
humans had been done so for millennial
they survived surely -
she emphatically surmised,
they progressed fantastically.
In spite of their hateful,
warmongering ways
she willingly admitted
that they had evolved.
It was just that Nature - needs to be
nurtured and natured much more
than humans seemed to grasp
- only the few seers, the vital visualists
should be given the power
to roadmap the preservation
of ...... her hands were grabbed
she was thrown down -
on the hard soil unceremoniously.
Her hood covered her face,
and she barely could breathe.
Listening for signs of what was to come
was a white noise, her brains
her ears registered naught and all.
The male, for th'is was a human male
was strong and told her that he
was going to take her by force.
He lifted up her coat and her skirt
ripped off her bottoms spun by the
finest cotton and sewn by elfish hands
not protecting her now.
He fumbled at his breaches and she could
hear him swearing and saying bitch
you bloody bickering bitch
you are nothing to me - but a hole.
He started entering her, tearing her
brutally - pumping up and down,
she finally found her voice and screamed,
only to hear the forest noises so far away
she was in his power and he forced himself
vigorously and victoriously on her.
He kept at it pinning her down only
by sheer will force she tried to fight him off.
He hit her on the side of her head
yelled, you will lie still, you vixen.
He came suddenly - the humping stopped.
He hit her again, you did not cooperate, slut.
I want you to work with me, you are powerless.
You will make me hard again. He stuck his manhood
in her mouth, and started to work at it.
She gagged and threw up. Nothing helped,
nobody came to her rescue, no human, no fay.
The Völva Vigga felt absolutely alone.
He grew big in her mouth
and he came in her mouth,
She threw up again.
He turned her around, twisting her arms,
so that she had to cooperate. He lifted her skirt
so that her bottom stood out - bare - freezing,
she could feel him look at her, she tried not to give
him the satisfaction of showing her utter fear, but
showed no sign of life. He harrumphed
and started pushing his penis in from behind.
She felt herself bleeding even more
but did he care - no.... he just kept at his task.
This time it took so long for him to come and
her insides bled profusely and hurt so.
Finishing for the third time he finally released her
wrists and got up, drew up his breeches, looked
at her and just said nothing. She huddled
herself in her cape, blood running down her thighs
- she finally looked at him with such
hatred - he jumped away, because she had dug out
the knife she always carried with her.
Lithe she jumped as best as she could,
but fell over a stone,
because she could barely stand,
he laughed and grabbed
the knife from her, looked curiously at it,
because it had a unique design
on its silvery shaft and on the blade
he smiled and said,
"Th's payment for my labors."
He turned and left as fast as he could.

Völva Vigga slumped down on the forest floor,
weeping silently, the knife was a symbol of fay
she had inherited it from her great grandmother
who had been raped when she was just a girl,
thereafter swore she would always carry a knife.
Her granny's assailant was one of the elves
of the faraway land of Tintangel,
and her great great grandmother had procured
the knife for her daughter dear to her.
It had killed, that knife, because a child's rape
enraged the völvae so much and
the elf had to pay with his life.
The elf was half human. His name inscribed
on the tip caught the eye of the volva's rapist.
The knife was made in Valencia,
iron blade, silver shaft, enchiseled
in ancient script on the shaft
"Protect the bearer, never hurt unjustly."
"Grosswolf" - the elf's name was on it's tip.
Vigga swore she would trace the knife,
and get it back somehow, someday.

Screaming her anguish and anger away
her throat scratched terribly
and she knew she needed to
go and have herself taken care of.
Willow bark and St John's worth as
well as calming soothing creams for the
scratches and her inner pathways
so she embarked on the rambling road
to the healing woman of the woodland's spring.
Tumbling fast along the woodsy ways
caring naught for the ways of the world,
but only concentrating on survival, the völva
finally arrived at the healing woman's place.
Knocking on the door the wise woman peeked
out and nodded to Vigga, "Come in my child,
you are hurt and need healing hands."
Vigga gratefully accepted, but explained
that she had nothing to pay the wise woman with.
Your healing, my Völva, will be my reward.
Vigga the Völva had begun her purification.

To lose

Player plays
parlaying
with great elan
player loses
finagling
with sad splinter.

Playing around

Player plays
parlaying
with great elan
player lays
role playing
with counterplan.

Missing vitamin-d?

Protracted the weeping
willows of dying cells
of mental capacities -
bleak mushy outlook
losing teeth - bent back -
only if memories serves us
will we smile on a dark day.

Expatriates

Ever-seeking the left known
the initial memories crown'd
a feeling lost in the new world.
Our kids adapt easily swirl'd
in their own childhood theatre
elders by nature are opiniatre.
For ego defense into escapism
expatriates lacks cradle prism.

Habitual u?

Habits of recognition
bents towards the known
confirms coziness.
Routines of remembrance
slants towards the norm
fortifies familiar.
Break out - burst away
from the bland, bleak blob
called everyday essence.
Be unique once, then ...
become addicted to being
.... uniquely you.

Candy Choices

hard choices at the movie store -
hard core action films
tear jerking dramas from sundance,
foreign Tasmanian dervishes,
romantic dramas or serious life stories,
how about a romantic comedy?
or a vivid computerized vision -
a magnificent reality check!
soon we will be able to have
Kermit the Frog as James Bond
a young Sean Connery as Heathcliff
and Julia Roberts as Marguerite.
icons changed as we want them
computer candy for everyone
brave new bit world

Streaks

the sky had blue hair
with grayish/white streaks
elegantly blended by planes
the lady had dark hair
with golden/white streaks
stunningly blended by a bottle
mother earth had black hair
with brownish/yellow streaks
sadly blended by ignorance

Crazy verse

Read somewhere,
"an attitude
with gratitude,"
think right here;
is latitude
to occlude.

No nothing

No inspiration
is forthcoming
nil - zip - nada
that in itself
is inspiring, or not?

No interpretation
is flinching about
nil - zip - nada
that in itself
is inconsequent, or not!

No invalidation
is foreseen
nil - zip- nada
that in itself
is intimidating or not?!

Far-away fables

A picture of an ancient palace
I got from a travelling friend
a dream place I will never see
my mother told me stories.
One emperor stood emphatically out
from that faraway fantasy land
a dreamt up fantastic man
whose world did not resemble mine.
My mother's morality mindful tales
were enthroned and encouraging,
yet I knew they were fairy fables
to germinate in me a zest for life.

Running water

I hear the running water
the shower of my daughter
and I smile -
I do not hear my son
too far away - in body - in spirit.
Yet inside my wired brain cells
a very vivid picture
of him cuddling his own son
robustly remains.
My other son floats in and out
like a catterpillar readying
to fly, where will he go?
Good thoughts pouring out
intercepted by the drumming.

Healthy body?

Slovenly with health
not building stealth
muscles and wealth
signify sadly dire signs
slobbingly weird minds
of an infantile kind.
Wake up, smell the decay
of gravestones on the day
before to rest you stay.
Sound body, sound smarts
take care of your parts -
fair warning - for starts.

On seeing "La vie en Rose" realizing
Piaf's cracked-up body, osteoporosis big time.
My mother had the disease.

Mozart's grave encounter

one a shadowy
December
day at dusk

hark his invincible
songs -

the stone figure's
invisible pride
composed -
burst of beautiful
talent silenced
2 centuries ago -

a pauper's grave
necrologically positioned
never found
postulated for posterity
somewhere oddly
off in vibrant Wien -
yet this immortal
melodious
miraculous mass
of Mozart's magic
imaginatively spins
around this
false funeral
separated sepulchre
on this wintry

dark day in December

Mozart's muse's gift:
pax vobiscum.

November warmth

Staring at the November rain
from inside a cosy warm house
intoxicates my rattling insides.
Ice ages come and go.
Evolution miracles from dry caves
mild savanna springs
earthly abundance
rich soils, fresh clean waters for
millions of years.
Industrial revolution
pollutes the lodestar.
We did not know
at the time.
Now we do.
Would I be willing to give up
the warm shelter of this abode?
If solar and wind energy
would take over - yes.
The November day is lightening up.

Seussical verse

Can you rhyme
and mime
at the same time?
Can you sign
and flip a dime
a rock climb?
Can you bolt
with a dolt
riding a colt?
Can you molt
with a jolt
to a fault?
Alas my verse
ends just terse
in a hearse.

Knock - Knock - who's there?

I did not disturb your peace -
yet you think you
have the right to preach
what you believe
on my quiet Sunday morning.

May your God be with you
and leave me to mine.

Leaf's pirouette

fouetté follows
the winds stark
demands
pirouette
pas de chat
a leaf's dying dance

Will-o'-the-wisp

Red liquid simmering
in the candlelit room
bewitches thoughts
of a summer's illusion.
Sights dances frenziedly,
alas - only the fool's joke.
Let my poor mind drown
my soul's narcissistic desires
in blushing burgundy claret.

Halloween hello

Hail Halloween
hear how
Hecate's hellbent
hillbillies
haunt horses and hounds.
Hell's Angels highbrow
hunting halos
hit hustlers hard.
Half-bred hairy heads
heave hemlock
haltingly.
Heinous heavenly
hallucinations.

F& H

Feet and hands
similarities
families
and
strangers
differences
hands and feet.

Stars' Walk

Hollywood Boulevard
with stars galore
resembles my street
with fallen leaves
gingerly spread out
symbolizing the ones
that lives and lived.
Mayhap the stars' walk
is more gorgeous,
but a fall morning's mist
glistering foliage
provides infinite
more divine colors
just right in front of me.

Tinnitus :(

Inner ears buzzing sounds
White noises will them drown.
Monotones of stentorian strength
sufferers go to great length
of quieting the buzzing zing
which will forevermore ring.

Readaholic

Reading everyday
keeps me from decay
I often put my life on hold
to turn that page untold.
My hubby understands
my hobby's grand demands.
I live my life in books
My life becomes unhook'd.
So I am just an addict
afflicted - in the attic.

Hobson's Choice

Hobson's choice
a dilemma
with outcome
only what
the postulator
premeditated.
We are our own.

Stone and Dog

I met a stone on my walk
this morning in the sun
he told me stop and gaze.
I did - he said: You see ...
The dog sniffed and tugged
we bounced so fast away.

The stone man I shall visit
again and again and again
for he wanted me to see
what I never noticed or saw.
Made of feldspar, glimmer -
a granite unformed we.

Was I wrong never to hold
his glance for unmitigated fear
of facing his solemn reality?
Or was I right to pounce upon
the dog's way sauntering
along the trail of tears happily?

On my morning's dog walk
sometimes eternity glimpses
more often a minute stands
I wait for the dog to do her thing
sniffing a stone - remarking
life is just a basic day's span.

Frog dreams

Frog queen
is green
and happy
where shabby
leaves on pond
weave beyond
those dreams
which creamed
her thoughts
for naught.

A felled fall tree

a fall tree
falls in three
the crown
the stem
the root
falls in three
a fall tree
but not a felled tree.

To Emily's mom!

Emily's mom is searching for answers
from the doctors, specialists and all-
yet, nobody has yet found what's wrong.

Orthopedics look at bones.
Endocrinologists scrutinize the endocrine system.
Neurologists examine nerves.

Another opinion - another doctor
yet the problem is not solved.
Observing her daughter's pain is heart breaking.

So Emily's mom has been digging -
trying to find out what is ailing her child.
Emily is lucky she has somebody who is fighting.

Why not?

Insignificant irony
prancing poetically
signifies satire.

Cogito ergo sum?

Pains in my hands
come from using the mouse too much
should I stop writing?

My mind reels the pains
knowing that this could be my last day
- yet I feel alive.

I can no more stop writing
than I can stop living or talking or...
I am what I think.

Nobel Haiku

Nobel oblige
Al Gore plus won the Peace Price
Geopolitics

Top haiku

Politicians
who is on top, who is not.
Election year.

Sir Zipper

Grandson's sleeper
with a zipper -
a grand past
Churchill wore them.

Thanks to Granddad

http://www.worldwar2exraf.co.uk/Online%20Museum/Museum%20Large%20pictures/siren-suit-small.jpg

http://www.newstatesman.com/200304280020

Blond senryu

Blond jokes
bimbos assumptions
fooling men!

Tumbling willow haiku?

I tumble over
a wondrous wayward willow
it's a new nightmare.

Pill for everything??

Autumnal sleep
Body needs
Would a pill help?

Seven deadly sins

Vølva Vigga looked at a painted picture
Hieronymus Borsch from anno 1485
wishing she could contemplate it
where it hangs: in the Prado museum.
By now Vigga knew she had committed
one deadly sin: invidia or
envy.

Sitting at her twisted old tree Vigga Vølva
suddenly felt hunger and she tumbled
over her own feet trying to gather nectar
from the busy bees and drinking it devouringly
with a straw. She then thought a terrible thought
She had committed another sin : Gula
Gluttony.

Shaking her head she become irate
why should she not drink this nectar.
Granted it was destined for healing
the sad souls of her little village, but
she had worked so hard in the night
that she needed it. Irate is
wrath.

Calming down she then stretched her
long limbs and thought of her past night
she had been in the arms of Odin
strong, handsome and sensual guy,
old and warn, but knew the femina.
Another sin called luxuria or
lust.

Vigga Vølva with her long auburn hair
then took it upon her self to shake
away the thoughts of sin and walked
in her autumnal wood and came upon
the little brook where she often mirrored
herself. She smiled! Beautiful. Vanitas
Pride.

She sat down, mulled over the fact
that within minute minutes she had committed
deadly sins galore - does a human do
that every day, Vølva Vigga's mind questioned?
It was so magnificent here that she languished
along the bank, even though work called.
Sloth.

Vigga Vølva got up and wandered wondering
about - thinking again avidly several minutes
about the Bosch world picture of humanity
and its feeble follies of committing the sins
taught so carefully to keep folks in somewhat
a harness - wishing eagerly she could do it too.
Greed!

Vølva Vigga took a deep breath and exhaled
the wood ventured to try and humor her humor
its brilliant colors of the month of October
was the only way she could look at the sins
all within herself - satisfied she would never be.
And the others? Each individual decides
individually.

For those interested in seeing the picture here is the address
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Boschsevendeadlysins.jpg

Rires

Cirque du soleil
c'est une epiphanie
rires fous

Car haiku

Young person relax
old car makes noises and stop
no personal feud.

Frustated fruit

Bitter autumn
enjoys frustrations
fruit picker

First senryu

Summer's end
Poetic strike
Tragic word play.

Auguring Autumn

another fifth season
crisp - morning
brisk- evening
moon waning
September sings
its last days
the praying mantis
is dead -
leaves are dropping
and coloring
the days of glorious
auguring autumn

More on Bel-Ami

Bel-Ami is getting hitched
to-day
many girls will sigh and cry
but it is time
Bel-Ami is getting hitched

Bel-Ami is gaining a friend
for life
many girls will cry foul
but it is time
Bel-Ami is gaining a friend

Bel-Ami is an inamorato
for life
his wife will applaud
and it is time
Bel-Ami is an inamorato

Bel-Ami is a lucky guy
to-day
This will be good
time is changing
Bel-Ami to Beau-Mari

Yet when I think of him
he will be always my Ken-Ami

Old versus new

A thing of the past
a cursive hand
smoothly written -
reflection demands.

To-day emails fired
quickly, lethal,
without a thought.
We - neanderthal?

Our fast connections
promptly are sent.
Convenient - yes!
Brains often absent.

However, it's nice -
to hear from old friends
in any way
this lament must end.

So poet - get off
your high horse so thin!
When was last time
you sat with a pen??

To Elincalime

19 minutes, Bel-Ami

Bel-Ami had an accident today

if he had not had that big fat
heavy car he would have been

smashed
flattened
squished

like the kid this summer
who is no longer
as old as my youngest

It told me one thing
that I keep forgetting

Live in the now
Walk the dog
Hug the world

19 minutes and then you might be -
on the landfill/
in the grave/
over the rainbow

Bel-Ami had an accident today

A mother's why?

Sadness fills my evening
a friend is in severe pain
telling me about her son
who is her only one.
So high hopes she had
but she was both father
and mother to the lad -
the dad so into his own
just similar to his offspring
again - a dance of anger
threesome tangled rings.
The son brilliantly bright
could do anything - yet
failed to live up to his own.
Sadness has invaded his mom
she cannot reach him
bailing him out almost always
and the kid smart as he is
if not one - then he taps
his father for needed dole.
He is working, living,
drinking, and whatever.
He lost his driver's license,
he lost his car, his old friends
threw him out -
living with new friends
until .... whenever.
Is he self-medicating?
Who knows - does anyone
realize what's going on
inside a human soul?
Is it just a sordid role
he is playing to get back
at the people who loves him most?
Is he depressed - can he boast
of waddling in self-pity
or doesn't he care to use that mind
he once so brilliantly had?
He cuts his mom off for months
and only when he needs money
or shelter he will appear.
This mother refuses to give up -
is trying to get a grasp of why?
She does not want to see him
in prison or worse - on the streets.
How can she reach him, she asks?
I really don't know - there are
several ways - some will work
for some - others will work for others
I tried to listen and give my 5 cents,
alas, my 5 were not satisfying enough
neither to the giver nor to the seeker.
Wishing I could have been more helpful,
what a sad waste of a wonder
an unreachable enclosed child
a sleeping beauty - never to wake
before it may be way too late, - yet -
his mother's heart is about to break.

Not now - not then - not ever

The commoner screams alert
the elected waddles in kickbacks.
Solon was so on the ball -
no honest politician will be found.
Not now - not then - not ever.
The nature of politics is beastly -
dog bites dog - man fights man -
true democracy holds this fallacy,
but we can all dream of illusions.

Daily comment

Flying high: a rocket away from the earth

flying low: a stealth stealing to bomb dirt

lying high: a man dressed in a fancy shirt

lying low: a rumormonger on the alert

spying high: a warrior seemingly overt

spying low: a congress saying: subvert

Empty haiku

A post was empty
the poet deleted it
obviously bad.

Bel-Ami Encore

he is a dreamchild
he is what a man should be
he is my BelAmi

he is a male child
he is what a friend should be
he is my BelAmi

he is a sad child
he is what a man is when lost
he is a BelAmi

he is a fun child
he is what a lover should be
alas, he is not for me
yet
he is my BelAmi

he is a groom
he is what a husband should become
wishing him luck -

Bel-Ami.

'Ness

youthfulness
middleageness
oldageness
other kinds of 'ness

somethingness
anythingness
nothingness
more kinds of 'ness

sadness
stillness
quietness
all kinds of 'ness

Erato errata

Völva Vigga shook her mane
today it was stark black
vicarious ways to change a name
of who started what.

War of a president now tagged
for a war of a general
would not fool the big brass -
only the public ephemeral.

How dare the people in power
try to throw scraps of cake
instead of standing up and glower
admitting their defeats of late.

Völva Vigga perused a figurine
standing erect, looking faraway -
ebullient Erato made of citrine -
frowning fiercely forever a day.

Vigga swore under her breath
the victors have history rewritten
the researchers routinely conquest',
but this time truth intermittent.

Mighty misnomers - miserable -
for this president - not a first -
ingenious invention of ignobles
the trail of truth traversed by thirst.

The Völva Vigga wondered wearily
how common man held at bay
would grasp that Erato figurally
instantaneously is erratum today.

Birthday Haiku

Mom of my grandson
you are one fabulous gal
Lady in Aussie.

La vie a trois

La jeunesse embrasse la naïveté
l'âge moyen encombre la vivacité
L'âge avance embrume la ménagerie.

Why?

Midlife is a scary time
Hormones flying not so bright
the last fling before old age!

Sheer "I cannot help it"
coup de foudre - never felt
this way before/ever.

I evolved - he/she didn't
Changing persona or
challenges from within.

A gifted man

this timbre of his craft
to many he was a titan
to others a true traitor
a generous man with a gift
he performed - he sang
his voice - a superb tenor
we have his vocalizations
on records for our storage
forever until another idol....

On Luciano Pavarotti's death.

Faust und frei

Ohne Faust und seinen Teufel
konnte man nicht begreifen
warum die faule Menschbeutel
ein strebend Abenteuer antreiben.
Leider wissen wir niemals
ob Belzebub zufrieden sei -
denn das Objekt war jedenfalls -
das Mensch wird nimmer frei.

A "romantic" sonnet

Of Shakespeare's romantic sonnets
came thousands of couplets and bonnets
couplets were thoughts and wild verses
bonnets covered beloveds' mild tresses.
One thought was repeatedly heard,
"I can't live without my blue bird".
Wild yearnings of poets endowed
doubts of dear darlings enshroud'.
Yet writers and dreamers of love
tell tales to dwellers of the earth -
ars amandis and behavior so courtly.
Whereas reality is not a dream dove -
power and sex - death and birth
paints better this petite life portly.

Thoughts over a day

It was a quiet day
in the writing lab
not much going on
yet.
It was a quiet night
in the fire station
not much going on
yet.
It was a quiet day
in the wide desert
not much going on ...
war.
It was a quiet day
in the hospital
not much going on ...
death.

Continue ad nauseam
yet...
In the writing lab
words and thoughts
were created.
In the fire station
alarms responded to
and lives saved.
In the desert
the animals awaited
and procreated.
In the hospital
a Cesarean birth
was celebrated.

Down to earth

The scope of the globe
stands to lose all hope
the earth is warming
- heed her fair warning.
Alas, fools remain
this poem is in vain.

Notes sur la memoire

La nature de la mémoire
est telle comme des oiseaux
volant vers le sud a l'automne,
des notes de la symphonie
nous quittent immédiatement
et ceux qui restent pâlent.
Maintes fois leurs vagues
me trouvent épatantes
et je deviendrai vivante.

Power haiku

Abuse of power
signifies lack of respect
for the common man.

Une promenade matinale

En me promenant
ce beau matin
je rêve des près lointains
remplis de raisins
jaunes et rouges, pleins
de liquide succulent.
Cet été un paradis humain
avec d'esprit surprenant
m'a prit extrêmement.
Moi et mon petit chien
regardont les pelouses fines
et je rêve des beaux vignes.

Where to turn

The Völva Vigga was wistful
when watching her wholesome toes
wiggling them in the stirrring whirlpool
what weirdness was predicted?
Which way would her vision work?
Where would her world wind?
Whirling her thumbs in the water
she whispered to the water nymph,
"Voiceless vestal, where can I walk
to calm my vanishing vernacular ways?
I am weaned from my views
of wise worldliness to witless vibes.
Can I revisit my tranquility?"
The water nymph "Evagore"
whipped her tail in the warm whorl
vanished quickly with a wry face
leaving the Völva Vigga to wonder
whether wisdom can be won
from without or from within!

A blend

Temple of my familiar
faces and places
like an old Macintosh
you bury yourself in
when you feel cold
or suddenly afraid.
Suddenly paradise tinkles
far away on the other side
only memory savoured
blazing bulwark
a lightness - a wrinkle
but to what depth!
Blended for one moment.

Trusty London

London by a sunny cool day
strolling leisurely along a wharf
pottering into an olde pub -
the Globe unto Lincoln's Inn,
tumbling upon Covent Garden -
yet all would be for naught -
if not accompanied by a glorious
feeling of trusty friendship.

A disease

Short term memory
gone away - circuits broken
medically temporarily fixed
hits so many humans

Dangers await those
inflicted - bliss it is not
partners need patience
patience and patience

For the well - a true loss
slowly build up a strength
needed - a time out
to give and give and give.

No equality is left
nothing you expected
will be there - a void
Avaunt terrible disease.

To a friend of timelessness

A friend from the past
yet it seems like Thursday
last week when we spoke
but it was ten years ago.
Rub another 28 years
away from the window
of unreal relativity.
Our bodies' timekeeping
counts for nothing -
sentiments everything.

Les vins futurs

le vendange commence
dans mon petit village
les gros bleues machines
araignées piquent les mouches
les raisins verts et lilas
les vignes supportent
leur machinations brutales
la saison de l'automne
les vins futurs font rever
les maitres et leurs esclaves

Mon don

Paralysie cérébrale
est mon nom
et mon don
sans cette maladie
je ne serais pas
l'être humaine
avec l'ironie.

A wet dream

Hypnotic eyes
dazzling hands
where are you
my dream lover?

Brains abound
taking by storm
calming my wits
my horny desires!

A dream lover
remains forever
an illusion: yet
I can dream, can't I?

A Constable painting?

Winds high and mighty
against the tide we flow
the fairies and the women

Sun peeking through
flying fierce clouds
the gnomes and the men

Storms and quietude
variety abound
souls' meeting forever.

Now Haiku

Trotting happily
with the sun as a sidekick
I dwell in the now

L'homme et son chien

Un homme qui promène avec son chien
dans mon petit village
Il m'embrasse - il me dit bonjour
Il me donne des compliments
Il fait me sembler comme une reine.

On a besoin de l'amour simple
de sérénité, de l'amitié, de se sentir bien.
Un homme qui promène avec son chien
je lui suis très reconnaissante
car il me donne un jour qui n'est pas en vain.

A dent

Dent in my car
most cars have one or two
in my little village

Bruise on an ego
of a young male
in my little village

A learning scar
if nothing else
in my little village

Un cadeau

Ma soeur d'esprit vivant
si peu de temps on s'est rencontrée
mais dans nos années qui nous restent
il faut se bavarder, se rire, s'émerveiller
du rencontre de notre jeunesse.
Un cadeau de la vie folle.

A book

Read a book
about a boy
from a world apart
we could learn
a lot and I applaud
the author's art.

On reading the final book
by J.R. Rowling

Un jour d'ete

Un jour d'ete gris
les fleurs du village
sont plus formidables
qu'au soleil brillant.

Trip forgotten?

Romantic spot
oddly enough
not far away -
add the wine
listen to music -
divine dream.

Everyday mayhap
leads to nowhere
gone is the allure
yet
enticing me to
not forget my trip.

Mythaway

Myth making is as common
as the dreams that we dream -
escape or understanding
our every day lives.
Today we let the directors
and the authors create them,
then priests told us what to believe
the story makers entertained us.
Yet Schliemann found Troy
while reading the Iliad,
some places have been dug up
because of the Bible,
rumor has it that the vikings
knew of a faraway land,
so was Columbus really a Norseman?
Myth makers all - dream away:
I do - - sometimes.

Escape?

My son went out into a world of war
my oldest - yet I knew that streets smart
was his name - he survived two war zones
and he barely communicated.

My daughter had no problem getting
to an Internet cafe - we are close
so she knew that soothing of my mind
was crucial for me and she attuned.

My youngest son is a true escape artist
he left on a plane and landed? Took a bus??
No email - no phone calls - we wondered
did he arrive at his destination?

Since I am on the same continent as he
it just now dawned on me to call the place
asking only of somebody, did he arrive?
The eaglet has sure enough landed.

Gentleman haiku

Tomatoes tendered
by a genteel gard'ner -
peeking at his patch.

Common denominator

I walked today with two ladies
bumbling along a beautiful country road
somewhere - anywhere

We saw thistles and clear blue skies
rallying at random chattering
somewhere - anywhere

We are what the French would say
women of a certain age
somewhere - anywhere

We described our different roads
of a life - out of a mother's womb
somewhere - anywhere

Thrown together in a blink in time
yet motherhood and grandmother hood
somewhere - anywhere

Each with our own background
so different and yet a sisterly bond
somewhere - anywhere

From the Pyrenees to Albion
via the Netherlands and North
somewhere - anywhere

Three ladies on a country road
from birth to grave bound one day
somewhere - anywhere

House revisited

Knock Knock - who's there?
A lady standing
outside the glass door
to-day asking,
Do you speak French?
Oui Oui, is my reply.
I lived in your house 25 years ago!
How could I not invite her in?
I get goosebumps,
she told me.
It was my husband who did the stairs.
Each room - she saw - she said
It looks the same.
Time was away and somewhere else
for this lady, she was smiling.
I have to tell my daughter.
The arch in our living room
they found behind the walls.
They think it was a convent once.
The arch in the kitchen should also be there.
The cupboard on the landing
I left it, she said.
Here my daughter learned to walk.
I asked for her address,
she willingly gave it to me.
I will send her pictures one day
because she did me a favor.
Her obvious joy told me
she had been happy here -
just like me - in my nunnery!

Et in Arcadia Ego

Over the hills and in Tempe
or the dales of Arcady
kens Keats to the Urn.
He cannot have his muse
but she is forever there
a cursory dream... of fulfilment.
Et in Arcadia Ego

Poussin's two vistas and his tomb
weld the same anagram?
The elusive essence exists
only in human minds
controlling our frail fantasies
of wishing to spin tall tales.
Et in Arcadia Ego.

Visiting Rennes-le-Chateau
on a stark summer day
with rain and clouds around
it did not yield any myths
except a lightening of a candle
in the little Marian church
Et in Arcadia Ego.

This morning I went where
my Visigoth friend walks
often when he is at home.
I saw the hills and dales
the mountains shrouded
in the clouds - a chimera
Et in Arcadia Ego.

The peregrination purely
therapeutic for the soul
fathomed the wishful ideas
of human longing and belonging
trotting along the country road
near earthly mounds and salty seas.
Et in Arcadia Ego.

Myth Haiku

Father Saunieres
rainy stark Rennes le Chateau
mysterious myths.

A little red toy car

Around the world
a tiny red toy car
travelled miles
to reach a grandson
by way of friends.

A tree was felled
wood was formed
a toy car painted
it trekked and toured
thousands of miles.

A little red vehicle
whirled its way
to the fantasy
of a growing mind -
a dream of a drive.

A horse woman

A horse woman hovering erectly
a pride seldom blatantly observed
she knew where she was going
dressaging her horse fiercely,
gently, and firm over the jumps -
she wanted control of the male
A horse woman with potent poise.

Brain haiku

A country ramble
brambles and wild vines abound
healthy breeze to brain.

En moi

Autour il y a d'orages
en moi - du calme.

Village life

Vølva Vigga whooped
she had found fulfillment
in a wee wild village.

It was not ideal
there was wickedness for wit
Eager goodness was evident

Flowers bloomed potently
some wild, some tame
some ancient, some just born.

Politeness ruled mostly
Curiousness was an affliction
but just because - because.

Undercurrents are there
they exist everywhere
accept the self-administered anvil.

Vigga the Vølva in Visigoth's lands
lingers her lithe limbs
to her summer in the sun.

A stupendous study
of humanity under heedful scrutiny
watched by the weird Vølva.

An evening walk produces a Spaniard
who mixes his native Andalousian
with the foreign French tongue.

A Parisian persistent pearl
with a withering wit of Pepys
a Gallic grande old dame.

The stable ladies of gossip
sit and gawk at life passing
but they have seen so much.

Mellowing with their musings
a visiting Visigoth Vølva mutters
her hello: they respond graciously.

Another is germane Germanic
if he speaks it is only in Gallic
he resembles a faraway friend.

The village is getting ready
for the fourteenth of festivities
so the square shifts to prytaneum.

The Vølva wonders vicariously
if she should partake in the fete,
is it only for its illusory inhabitants?

So she will ask her natural neighbours
whether they shall try their palates
on the eve of the oppidan enjoyment.

A healthy hanging beautiful basket
of red and white flowers tended for
had disappeared from its place.

The Vølva was immensely saddened
because stealing a blossom seems
a purposeless act and yet

perhaps this flower brought happiness
to a granny, a mother, a friend
even though it was physically plundered.

Troubles as we enter the freedom week
the fourteenth of July - bloody - one time
reddening again another acute age.

Loss swallowed- plant replaced
by kindness of kindred spirits
a neighbourly knightly deed.

What more could one wish for - kindness
gentleness with colour of humanism
thrown in for good measure.

Village life found the Visigoth Vølva
equalized to the tender time of studying
delving in the daunting dorm.

In and out of each others lives
on good days and on bad days
following the flow of fleeting time.

The mayor's speech brought forth
a great grasp of histrionic hail
in toto it will be quietly told

The day of the Bastille was important
because the subjects of the king
became the citizens of the land.

A lesson relearned in a little village
wound up the essential meaning of it all.
We can all learn from "the village".

Learning haiku?

Raw reminiscence -
drops of umpteenth amassed flops
sound symbiosis.

Friendship

Alas, friend
you talk of your own stuff
you say you listen
but truely you don't.
Still I like you.

Alas friend,
You were born communicating
I was born - in silence.
In some relationships I am you,
but will you ever be me?

Alert, my friend
we should accept
that we are strangely equal
you seem to be lonely
I am oddly content.

La Sourdine

Silencieusement
je reve de la solitude.
Quand je l'aurai
c'est la sourdine
uniquement hantee.

Hop makes you young

A village in full bloom
the kids are off from school
sounds of the mobilettes
roaring by making
the old folks hop out of their way.
Maybe that is why
the old fogies are so alert!

Une chatte dans mon village

Un jour ou je me promène
dans mon petit village
j'ai rencontré une chatte
qui m'ai dit, c'est a moi
cette petite ville
mais si tu serais gentille
tu pourrais la partager;
alors je lui ai dit
Je te respecte, j'espère
que tu feras la même.
Elle m'a regardée et s'est tournée.

Baking haiku

Creating a cake
without any recipe
only with my wit.

Don't do what I do!

Sitting in the alley behind my little house
reading suddenly a voice calls out
you should not sit in the currant air
you will catch a cold,
an old lady from the street calls out;
I tell her I am fine; she leaves.
In the market today I meet her again
she asks me if I am all right.
I said: You are like my mother,
I heeded your advice and went in.
She smiled - I could hear her chest
rattling!

Humanity scrutinized

In the fine houses
in the burbs'
each sits inside
mull their own thoughts.

In the little houses
in the village
everyone gets out
chats with their neighbors.

Of course, not all are friendly
but if you are not - ostracism.

Carcasonne haiku

Medieval fortress
adventure from a far past
Madam sounds the bell.

Sea haiku

Sea conversation
away from the beach unheard
avoiding topics

Visigothess

Borrowing a friend's computer
to email one's family and friends
is a true mitkva for an expatriate
Visigothess - a wonderful Vølva.

Without this the ties would be less
without the ties we cannot move
ties to our connextions
are the muscles of our days.

Visigothess understands this
wholeheartedly
because she is another expatriate
far away from her lands.

Whether you are a wanting vølva
or a wonderful visigothess
we all need the same thing
our strings - ourselves.

Chemistry ?

Is vague knowledge
an awareness of unconscious insight?
Is vaqueness enough
to warn about dangers?
Where from do we get
our "inbred" perceptions?
In the womb chemicals
are thrown at us incessantly!
Today's embryo is radiated
with mobile technology.
Will these sparkling sensors
twist our minds so?
Are vague emissions
a warm warning
of all conscious hurt?

Zealots

Masada to Montsegur
Auschwitz to the Gulags
one less heretic
one less ethnic
the powerful are afraid.
I am afraid of
zealots
of any kind!

Village haiku

Languedoc village
its heritage wine and Cathars
midst of sun and sea.

Sad restaurant haiku

Last year - had the best
I dreamt of that lamb cutlet.
The chef out to lunch!

The frog car

driving in the mountains
in and out, out and in -
back and forth
swaying the little Twingo
the frog car -
from one side to the other
often in the middle
croaking the horn
I became the frog princess.

Tramontanian past

My childhood spooks
because born by the sea
only a few days a year
the water was calm.
In the village of my dreams
- the tramontane -
I return to storms of my past.

Sad haiku

Prostrated person
hiding her face in childhood
neglects her duty.

Candy haiku

Return to childhood
eating odd candy gallore
very little sleep.

Garden

My firend's garden is in bloom
A garden tended for, cared for, loved
in the old country
My yard is different in the new country
it is a practical garden, a little less tended to...
perhaps too big?

Klampenborg Station

My compatriot
an old poet
Johannes V. Jensen
wrote on a trip
about Memphis Station.
This lurked in my mind
because I now wait for trains
in my country of my birth
just like the poet waited for
6 hours once in Memphis Tennesee.

My childhood's station
a beauty?
A reality where I found
the world.
From there I travelled to the city
from there I travelled the orb.

Klampenborg Station.

Under your old waiting roofs
of wrought iron
chiselled swung holders
I dreamt in my youth
of the earth I wanted to see.
Yet now when I return once
in a while
it is you I yearn for
a symbol of my virginal reveries.

Klampenborg station.

Your pavement
your rusty timber framed walls
your airy half sheltered colonade
with a glimpse of the ocean
when facing to town
everything
the sphere is hidden
in your old buildings
that once were brand new
signifying progress.
Today in our global warming
you still reminds me
that collectively we should
visit you and what you stand for.

Klampenborg Station
in your tracks my soul rests
especially
when the trains are delayed.

A Sunday walk

Childhood memories
of special happy days
with kids in tow
walking seeing everything
anew.
Dreams of walking
with grandson
showing him
the same I enjoyed
twice.

Tivoli Haiku

Tivoli Gardens
Sunday in May full of tulips
65000.

True road haiku

Road of memory
my childhood and pubescence
strangely still unchanged.

A couple

parallel runs of mundane tasks
one at home in a huge nation
the other at home in an old country
bound by feelings beyond belief

blank-void

out of the blank stare
lures a new insight
out of the void
spouts a cornucopia
...

The Id and I

Is the me Id?

I am the incorrigible me.
I cannot run away from me
like it or not - the me is I.

But I can change - circumstances can switch!
The core of me is the core of Id.
I can evolve - the me can evolve.

I absolve the me from whatever the me has done
alas, at night the me tells me what I'd wrong.

Parallelogram

I lift my head
somebody else bends it
I slurp a cup of coffee
somebody slurps a cup of tea
I pet my dog - someone pets a cat
I scratch my back- someone scratches her belly.

Someone makes her family dinner
I make my family breakfast
Someone takes a shower - I take out the trash
Somebody tends to their aging parent
I tend to a grave
Somebody cries at the war in their land
I cry with them.

Gerbils and poets

Gerbils must destroy
that cardboard roll
in their confinement cage.
Poets must describe
that feeling they have
inside their inner hide.
Gerbils and poets
are passionate gonzos.

Bra haiku

Nipples are sexy
brassieres covers them primly
bothersome fashion.

to a special man

you humor my humor
my idiotic idiosyncrasies
my crazy quirkiness
every day - always
love or lunacy?

May Morning

Mood for mellow music
"Moon River" on the player
May gray morning
somewhere on our planet
maybe my endorphins
will actively call me to dance
cause the news certainly do not.

Seussical stab

Out of the zoo
belly dancing Baloo
to my fancy kazoo
danced with a Roo
twisted with a Moo
smiled seeing YOU!

Lunch haiku

Concerts at lunch hour
is refreshing and noted
Youth - I applaud you.

On going to hear local college students'
lunch hour concert.

Clown's haiku

A clown among us
expressed gently a lost skill
laugh and know thyself.

More on Vigga the Volva

Vigga Volva digesting news
shuddered silently
wrinkling her bright brow.
Broaching her toils of work
she mumbled humbly
T'is is not going to be easy!
How can philosophical people
just gerrymanderingly accept
this whole wretched war.

Started on false fear
of invasion of the island
an islet so isolated
that another awesome attack
would be irrationally likely
like the one one scenic September.

Fear is a moving mover
and a shimmering shaker
therefore plain people believed
because the powerful powers posed
that this was their fulsome fear.

Ach, the way Vigga the Volva
warily sees the solemn situation.
It was an explanatory excuse
to get the weary wheels going.
Signs of economic decline
before the wary war was declared
slumpingly slither into
forgotten memories falsely
accused that it is not a war
about ominous burning oil
but about frightening freedom.

Volva Vigga shook her maidenly mane
and twirled a twist of her auburn locks
muttered while meandering
between the mighty moss
in the dark shade of the gleaming glade.

Why do Gaia's folks not adhere to
sensible sense and see twisting tales
for what they honestly hold?
Where was Sophia, her sensible sister?

Vigga the Volva was sorry
because Sophia had swearingly left -
not to return to the glimmering glade
for as long as the pesky people
who would not want sensational sensibility
and had forgotten all about
everlasting emissary enduring Erato.

Vigga the Volva haphazardly hastened
her nightly necromantic Nordic steps,
she was late for her throbbing toils
digging in the dire dirt for winding weeds
around her stout seedling planted
a full moon before Beltane's ballyhoo.

She started to weep wearily but well-spent
tears dropped daintily on the startling sprout.
Every tear every night reminded
Vigga the Volva of the many many people
who died for naught but hatred and gain.

If all the feisty females would go and cry
every eve and refuse their menfolk
the jubilant joys of conjoinment:
Lighthearted lusty Lysistrata.
Mayhap the menfolk would moan
and give up fearsome fulsome fights.
Although the pensive protagonist
would not biddingly bet on it.

Vigga the Volva lifted her head
crowned with beautiful auburn locks
of earthen eery shimmering sheen
and stared out in the dull darkness.
She stole another anxious look
down on her symphonic sycamore's
sprightly growing sprig.
It accepted her tears and dewdrops
from her almond-greyish eyes.

Vigga the Volva was going to toil
tending the newborn Yggdrasil.
Turning her back walking away
she would return the next eve -
her chilly cheeks hurt hauntingly
from her dried saline drops.

Muffled haiku

Presidential thought
musters civic correctness.
Muffled mask of mind.

Light

Crazy comments
from friend
lighten literally
dull day
Thousand thanks.

Again Elincalime!

De rêver

...un point de mon rêve
existe peut-être
et puis cela change
a un cauchemar
on ne sait jamais
si on rêve ou si on vit...

Je m'excuse haiku

Did I hit a spot
beyond what you tolerate?
Not with vile intent!

Shoes & society

Chinese binding equals
concubines or consorts

high heels - red lacquer
hieroglyphs of hookers

in certain cultures
women cannot wear
red foot wear for fear
of real branding

shoe shopping reveals
society's labels of ladies

narrow spiked heels
pertain to keeping
a choking reign on
wrenches, babes, gals

sports shoes occupy
equal space in few stores

observation only
shoe solution - alas - nil.

Timely haiku

Time keeping device
howls unheard in mi(d)st of night
Nevermore's delight.

May Day

May Day
hey day
dancing
prancing
around
abound
in flowers
of powers
unknown
full grown
spring moon
so soon
joys end
life's bend
black cat
begat
loon's play
on
May Day.

Frog haiku

Frogs, princes, and me
childhood full of fairy dreams
My prince is a toad.

A boy who was king haiku

King Tut's left-overs
represents a time in art
beauty's slavery.

Accidental haiku?

Serendipity
suggests eventuality.
Pure coincidence.

Dandelion haiku

Dandelion spits
its stuff to spread sundry seeds
survivor techniques.

Acupuncture haiku

Acupuncture sticks
on my back - on my hand - ten
only floating heath.

Mundane grook

I have to clean my living space
I do everything to avoid it.
Alas, I know if I don't sweep,
the ants and cockroaches will leap
to their ownership of my home.
Without fail - I must go to groom.

Engineer haiku

Breed of unique kind
thinking totally quirky
Engineer of min(d)(e).

T-shirt

The t shirt's story
you wonder?
Wikipedia says:
Sometime between
WW1-WW2
military underwear
became the T.
1950ies saw
Marlon Brando
epitomize
the shirt.
Now apart from
brand names
the T is entrenched
with slogans.
iT has become
our personal
declaration
love? hate? war?
The T-shirt
returns to
iTs roots.

Listen!!

When you chat with friends
you may not always get
what is going on with them.
Just be a friend - listen -
listen - and listen.
When you chat with your kids
you may not always find out
what they are up to.
But sometimes it pays
to just listen - listen - listen.
We do not have all the answers
I certainly do not and I challenge
anyone who says, "I know".
Anyone who says, "I know" does not listen.

Disappointed limerick

Oh, limerick of spring to come
it will be a spring to some -
how will it the woman affect
her needs, her deeds, her wondrous breasts.
He holds her very tight to him
it is only his certain whim
that brings his spring to again spring
alas – he does not make her ring.

Snobbery haiku

Meeting snootiness
reflects person's inbred fears.
Shrug off: C'est la vie.

Haiku with a slant

Puritanical
poses in person's mindset
is OK, judge not.

Someone human

She is talented
in wondrous ways
she can dance
she can paint
she can play.

She is endowed
with humor and wit
she can cook
she can write
she can twist.

She is brilliant
second to none
she is angry
she is hurt
she is glum.

Foresight haiku

Stark stormy stillness
cannot create catharsis.
Only observance.

Music haiku

Noteworthy music
harmony and counterpoints
memories in blink.

Deathly haiku

Killer killing kids
in rampage of ranting rage.
Incredulity.

Windy haiku

Arctic April winds
blowing budding blossoms off
Nature needs nurture.

Editing haiku

To edit writing
is terribly difficult
you must delegate.

Crap-apple haiku

Wunderbar vulvae
on crap-apple tree in spring
rotten to digest.

Orchid haiku

Odd orchid which blooms
on my dining-room table
is from daughter's beau.

Venetian haiku

Venetian bottle
perfumed in old memory
a whore of beauty

Imperfect haiku

through imperfect eyes
we see nature as perfect.
maybe new glasses?

A wise lady

Vigga the Völva smiled,
it had been a good morning.
Sophia, her highborn sister,
had met her and shared an instant
with herbal tea mixed with ideas.

Men would see the seance
as a infertile pourparler.
Vigga and Sophia spouted
feats for the forthcoming future;
long-term latest wrinkle.

Feeling fabulously fair
and respecting their differences
they flaunt their sisterhood,
though both lively ladies
navigate their ships strategically.

Vigga the Völva remembers
so many talks with her wise sister,
Sophia, and wishes for her wisdom.
At this monumental moment
she can only be thankful.

Words

Words are powerful -
distribute carefully.

Grinding words -
everyday abuse.

If they hurt -
refuse pain or ignore.

The use of slurs
labels the owner.

Words in anger
have started wars.

Words are potent -
disperse caressingly.

The word "freedom"
is for everyone.

Granny haiku

Longing for my arms
around you, little sweet one.
My co-gran will do!

History's judgement

In Mughal India
Mehrunissa reigned.

In Imperial China
one stands out - Cixi.

History's judgement
shaded of both ladies.

In the US Hillary
may be the first female president.

If she wins
history will be harsh.

Achoo!

Achoo - achoo
what can I do
to stop this cold
from getting hold?
Drink tea - lots
of herbal shots -
to delude myself
that I can shelf...
achoo - achoo
Nothing I can do
except my nose scold!

The Vagina ABC

The poker in my vagina
Attacks
The poker in my vagina
Beats
The poker in my vagina
Controls
The poker in my vagina
Drums
The poker in my vagina
Encroaches
The poker in my vagina
Fucks
The poker in my vagina
Grinds
The poker in my vagina
Hacks
The poker in my vagina
Itches
The poker in my vagina
Jeers
The poker in my vagina
Kicks
The poker in my vagina
Loathes
The poker in my vagina
Mocks
The poker in my vagina
Nullifies
The poker in my vagina
Oppresses
The poker in my vagina
Plunges
The poker in my vagina
Queues
The poker in my vagina
Rams
The poker in my vagina
Scorches
The poker in my vagina
Thrusts
The poker in my vagina
Uses
The poker in my vagina
Voids
The poker in my vagina
Wrecks
The poker in my vagina
Is xenophobic
The poker in my vagina
Yanks
The poker in my vagina
Zaps

On reading Eve Ensler's
"Insecure at Last"

The harbinger of Beltane

Völva Vigga stared somberly without
seeing
the last full moon before Beltane.
She had to clean out her wintry abode
and welcome spring to hawthorn and
myrtle’s bloom.
Her highborn sister Sophia with wisdom
had reminded her gently; it was time!
Völva Vigga pondered pensively over
this odd winter enticed with war and
withering.
What was the meandering meaning
of it all?
Sophia had quietly mentioned Tuatha De
Danaran,
beloved goddess of the people on the
Emerald Isle
worshipped in far away India aeons ago.
Beltane is ceremoniously celebrated
on the verdant Celtic lands in our time
with dancing around maypoles on the eve,
festive nourishing sweet cakes to break up,
so all participants get a fair share of
the food
in honour of the Queen of the dim dusk.
“Drink and be merry ye genuine godlings”.
Water is so life giving, and April showers
conceive lustrous blooms for us to enjoy -
without water - our saliva would be dust.
Danae, daughter to king Acrisius donated
this essential element and herefore severely
suffered.
So royal Dana will reclaim her gift to the orb
unless she is passionately pacified.

How could Völva Vigga lend a hand
except rummage in her mythology
of elfin folk and Odin’s lore for aid?
The spit of the old Völuspa’s song of earth’s
demise
turned Vigga off like the war avowal rap chords,
“Lo and behold”, she muttered musingly:
There must be a wondrous way
to alert the folks of this little eyelet earth.
Humane humans have only one shot.
Yet persisting in at best indiscriminately
ignorance
or foul play of the resolute ruthlessness
at worst
mortals must muster some kind of
self-determination
against the evil forces in this earth’s economy.
Mayhap the indigenous inhabitants could use heroic holmgang
for their viciously war minding ways.
Taking battles out of the economical equation
would then require people to become more personable
and try and solve some of their mundane messes.
Using fantastic forces, now speculatingly spent
on might’s machinery and out-flowing oil,
and creating constructive customs to painstakingly pave
a real road to save this glowing and growing globe
would be what Völva Vigga will audibly advocate.
Alas, this celebrant knows that only by channeling change
can this world survive – for their own kind kins.
With early education about our planetary plight
and teaching tolerance vigorously
might the human hobgoblins hobnob with
Queen Danae at beautiful Beltane’s
dancing around the metamorphic maypole.
Vigga the Völva wondered as she watered
the moonlit myrtle and hazy hawthorn.

Remembered that she too was part of the
hearty whole vivacious Völva Vigga vowed
to plant a seed of a symphonic sycamore.
One day mayhap it would groovily grow
into a yearning Ygdrasil where birds nest
and beneath which people play.

At Beltane with the rain gone
in the full-bodied firelit moony twilight
Völva Vigga gazed gladly in awe
at the harbinger of the tiny green sprightly sprig.
Her faery face blessed by the misty glow
beamed a mild and buoyant smile.

spring evening haiku

dazzling verdant scent
glimmering twilight flower
lustrous pearly brook

Phish!

Phish my Ass!
Steal my security?
Try you evils!
Quiet Monday
a suspicious email,
sailing through.
- Nope
I do not fall for it.
Sadly many do!

Grocery story

Check-out line
at the grocery store
one Sunday morn
asking the cashier
how she is doing?
Fine! And you?

I talk about
being split between
two kids and activities.
Jealousy and sibling
number order.

Cashier was number three
and was told all her
life that they only wanted
two!

Guess, who is taking care
of those parents!

So she never had kids?
Looked at me strangely
and told me how she
lost two kids by her
first wife-beating husband
and her second one died!

Good tidings though
she is engaged to an
old flame of her youth
with four kids,
bundles of grand kids,
a great-grand one plus
two more on the way.

One of his daughters
does not like her.

All within 5 minutes
at the grocery store
one early Sunday morn.

Once upon a fairy tale

Fairy tales of childhood
carry a light burden
they tell truths about us.

Ever afters of maturity
profess a profound wisdom
they tell tides of turmoil.

Legends of old age
return to telling stories
of "once upon a time".


Inspired by seeing "Into the Woods".

Souls in Space?

Black branes - gauge bosons
space time - 11 dimensions
not just the 4 included in
Einsteins theories -
string theory - mathematically
formulated - but not exact
what do they explain to a poet?
The usual humbling "factoid":
We can never know it all,
so when we die - do our souls
become part of polarization
of the worldsheet's memory?

Again thanks to Leo Abernathy.

Female sadness.

Feminism gone all wrong
Dating "Unhook'd": read:
To help young women succeed!

Competition very strong
between sexes now
women will want to it win!

Give and take what joy of love
the hook'ed yin and yang
sadly but in spirits drowned!



Reading "Unhooked" by Laura Sessions

Sitting with friends

Sitting with friends
all of a sudden
alienation
sitting with friends

chatting with friends
one evening
disaffection
chatting with friends

becoming quiet with friends
presently
secession.
Becoming quiet.

Daffodil Rubicon?

Daffodil: an epigram?
not in my word book!
A dazzling spring floret
hidden in my mind chest
my green Rubicon
of mixed carnal feelings.
Yet each budtime since
the wonderous jonquil
ships me to my crossroads.
Daffiness: the quip on me!

Thursday treasure

Last night was a treasure
you played and sang -
the surprise for me was
that you had mastered
some skill - brand new
that I did not know
you had acquired.
What a grand jewel
to get on a Thursday.

Cultivate righteousness

Cultural differences
cultivate divergent responses
from diverse personalities;
how come some wants
to curb your disparity
while claiming they are right?

Melting Dutch evening

Evening tide
chocolate time
craving
of a special kind
this need stems
from way back when
I was a child
and in our hutch
some wondrous
melting sweet Dutch
dark and tasty
wolfed well down
without a thought
to calories abound.
To this day when
dusk turn to night
my childish craving
returns full might.

Four years ago

Four years and umpteenth lives ago
a war
to keep the wheels going
on an assumed presumption
a war
four years and umpteenth lives ago.

Four years and umpteenth people ago
a war
to preempt a strike
on a nation full of oil
a war
four years and umpteenth people ago.

Four years and umpteenth souls ago
a war
to combat a puppet
put in by yourself
a war
four years and umpteenth souls ago.

Four years and umpteenth spirits ago
a war
struggling soldiers
on perilous ground
a war
four years and umpteenth spirits ago.

Four years and umpteenth zombies ago
a war
myriad civilians dead
harmed forever
a war
four years and umpteenth zombies ago.

Monday score?

Mortality ricochets calmly
in any medical statistics;
it is just that on Monday mornings
moribundity messes up
my weekly outlook.

Meekly posing the pale point:
how do the medical people
deal with the finality of death
without lumbering everyone
into a staggering score?

War song?

Oompapa Oompapa
Oompapa Oom
today was a good day
We drank a keg of rhum

Oompapa Oompapa
Oompapa Oom
Today was a good day
We twisted another's thumb.

Oompapa Oompapa
Oompapa Oom
Today was a good day
We killed another lump.

Oompapa Oompapa
Oomapa OOm
Today was a good day
We launched a dirty bomb.

Oompapa Oompapa
Oompapa OOm
Today was a good day
We had the grand triumph!

Stress and you

Stress provokes auditory loss.
Stress kindles visual impairment.
Stress results in undercurrent harm.
A nutcase ready for the funny farm?
No, a human fogging up a body
with sadness, anger, dismay - toss
it away - your (s)way!

Stewed soup

Life is the hometown
where I am not.
Yet homesick
for the treats
that I once got:
Tastes all abound.

Why do I summon
what I cannot
savor and chew?
Comfort me
with love and prod
my childhood's common.

Is love yonder food
when I cook up
brio and zest?
Daring me
to eat faerie's cup
of maturity stewed.

So my childish dreams
of treats galore
sweets and tang
will drown me
in fool's encore.
Yet the past still gleams.

Love survives?

"How can love survive?"
A theatrical duet.
The music hammers
the inner ear and eye.
2 years after suddenly.
Why?
An elderly balding man
belting the words
Patrick - the kind guy
who believed in
his partner strongly
That's how love complies!

Mindless mindset

Forged in childhood
perceptions of the world
unconsciously or deliberately
of our parental role models
are hard to combat.

Framed in adolescence
comprehensions of the matter
carelessly or calculatingly
of our learned perceptions
are harder to fight.

Flounced in adulthood
conceptions of tolerance
lackadaisically or unscrupulously
of my own obstinate notions
are the hardest to resist.

Pain

Shoulder pain
from somewhere
inactivity pain
from everywhere
psychosomatic pain
from nowhere?

Presidential Forgiveness

Presidential forgiveness
forges premeditated
predatory familiarity.
Perilous footpath
fairly prevalent
in political farces.

Librarian's lament

Overload of info
out on the net
help - what to do?
To limit my quest
to spot the find
precisely
concisely
is an eternal bind.

Always - never

Always look on the positive side of the knife
Macheath, the henchmen from hell
is a symbol of modern world's wit.

Always look of the positive side of the lie
we not ever whispered the words
find more scapegoats who fit.

Always look on the positive side of the strife
we kill each other more in toto
it was never us who started it.

Thanks to Eric Idle and Monty Python

Mutatis Mutandis

Dillettante:
Mutatis Mutandis
for the world I wish
with AL and his truth
showing the cause root
CO2 and greenhouse gasses
dwindling ice cap masses
that US Congress would wake
before it is way too late

The Earth:
Mutant Mensches
mend my dying fences
I cannot breathe
so therefore I seethe
tired - mired in dirt
I do not want to be your Earth.
Find another place
in the greater space!

Ashley

Völva Vigga viciously unwell
seeing to what infinite end
parents can doctor their flesh
under the guise of help
for their growing kin.
Taking the buds of breast
transmogrifies the child
of their own loins
under the screen of balm
for their bursting bairn.
Extracting the she-stuff
revised the being
of their little poor girl
to protect her from
future predatory raptors.
Boosting her androgens
to inhibit the formation
of the exceptional woman
for their fervent surmise:
a unique elfin - finer service.
Völva is trembling in distress
what did the doctors ponder
when operating on the chick,
their sacred hippocratic oath
or their names in med paper?
Vigga the Völva went to Sophia
her highborn sister - wisdom
and asked where will it end?
Uttered softly Sophia wrinkling,
"Vigga, you will have to forgive".

Judge the idosyncrasies?

Judgement
signifies the firm presumption
of superior knowledge.
Slant
gleans the twisted hypothesis
of latent preference.
Bias
presupposes the flawed inclination
of feeble idiosyncrasy.

Exceptional!

Exceptional children
you call the handicapped
I am one of those.

Peculiar children
you name the unfortunates
There are many of us.

Abnormal children
you label the commoners
We are all humans.

Fight

The same old fight
fighting with fists
not
fighting with wit
but
better is fighting
with wit
than with fists.
Wit is the wherewithal
of every fight.

Miasma

Retroviruses
a gallery
of greedy
RNAs
getting into
DNAs and
trouncing
the good genes.

Lentivirus -
slowpoke of
retroviri
is dormant
until it decides
to divest
its domain
and have a ball.

Thanks to
Elencalime!

Opera shortstop

Heroine howls
to be heard.
Hero hawks
his repartee
full of hauteur.

Hero hoots
his hankering
too tardy.
Heroine hums
her harmony.

On seeing the Met's Live Perfomance
of Eugene Onegin by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Stark reminder

Death endears
- assured of -
unconsciousness
evermore.....

Physical/psycho puff

Physical pain
heart's heave
spurts shock
releases reality
psycho-secrets
stoop stops
canned cavities
open obstreperously
still sojourn
painful paroxysm.

Widget? Not!

To widget or not to widget
that is the ambiguity
all bloggers ask?
To trace or not to trace
that is innuendo
the Internet inhales!
Ach - to have immunity
without big business
breathing behind
innocuous inquiries
invading ivory towers
of Rapunzel's rhapsodies
would be real refuge:
a personal prerogative.

Schnook

Inspired by a book
just a peek, a look
down by a brook
my face - a nook
with a wrinkled hook
duly noted I shook
no help for a kook
Grin and bear - schnook!

Speechless

Realpolitik
for whom
but the rich

Controversy
for what
sovereignty

Supremacy
for nothing
but money

Domination
for zilch
but power

Empire
for naught
but tyranny.