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.