I speak poetry or when I write poetry

– although I’m using words that are usually used in our logical minds – I’m allowing myself to explore the unknown. Poetry expresses what I really feel. I feel that poetry is the language of truth more than anything else. In my imagination I would like to experience a life where people speak poetry to each other. Words just come to me – to the poem. Revealing the depths of my consciousness to myself. One could say that poetry is a sister of dreams, or the outer physical manifestation of that mysterious part of the collective psyche.

She broke

She broke like a brittle bone
Her love choking like a tunnel filled with sewage
The roads were like highways of her tears
As silent ancient dragons flew in her skies of fears
The melting shadows
Having all breath taken
Leaving them flattened out
Like wrecked cars
Squashed to be recycled
Into jars .
Her memories whisper
Talking over each other
Like lambs waiting to be slaughtered
Shoved into corners
Nestling up In a desperate cry for security So she like moths drawn to the false light

moon spaceship

This painting was a really big mess in the beginning – a really big mess. It’s very unlike what I would ever paint – completely not a style that I would recognize within myself…nor a recognizable subject matter. There are very childlike things in this painting – a car, a spaceship that you can climb down and up to. You can see two pairs of lovers – one is very rooted in the ground and the other one very much in space. This is a very playful painting and it’s telling a story. I don’t quite know the story yet…but it’s definitely telling a story. As I was sitting – I couldn’t stand – I was much more precise than I usually am with the brushstrokes – it was a completely different approach.


My head is flying in a cyclone of thoughts
Triggered by a snipers shooting emotion
Like a storming desert
I am walking blinded by dust
Heading on to an unseen destination
Only by chance
Or pure divination
Do I arrive
Like a letter growing feet
Delivered in streets
Or a mountain standing tall
who in essence is a waterfall
That replaces in eternity
My misplaced physical identity

Blue to gold feather

The blue feathers turn into gold
As I curl up
Birthing the next second into being
Like leaves in spring
Pushing out of pods
In pains and screams
Radiance unfolds
Through the compassion of the lost
The hunger of the forgotten
Pulled out by the waving arm
above the water
Beauty tears my heart
Through listening ears
Hearing harmonies
In simple forms
And charms
As I breathe

A leaf

I feel like a leaf
Blown away
Far from its tree
To a new vicinity
A hanging piece of wool
Dripping from the corners
Of the majestic
Knitted reel
A left over
Not disposed
Still there
But disclosed
Soldered link out of chains
You don’t fit in here
I am a foreigner
Wherever I go
Even if for moments
I may not feel so
But that too explodes
I am the outsider
That is my home
In the desert
Of the undercurrent
Subconscious zone
I am the forgiven forgiver
Receiver of gifts
Recognized by some
Spirits who lift
I am the madness
Sprawled in us all
I am the letting go
Of the fall
I am the singing sorrow
For today
And tomorrow
I am the believer
In truth beyond
I am the vast nothingness
In each song