Friday, April 26, 2013

Retrospective: Liverpool 2010



Sheherazade was telling me her fairy tales
again
this time she skipped all the details 
about a fellow 
and was shadowing the background
not with a grey but glossy yellow
quill pen
moving in a pattern
in the reversed tune
of Ferry,
Cross the Mersey! 
When it started to scratch
my loved one
opened a night latch
came out of the blue
pulling himself
out of the sand dune
singing a refrain
'Here Comes the Sun'

I was a Strawberry 
and he was Champagne.¨
shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
We were whispering:
'Again...'


Gormley's Iron Man at Crosby beach
Getting off the ferry

Panoramatic Pool

Mirroring Ships near Alberts Docks
Highland Cattle


Sunday, April 21, 2013

Relaxation


seeing the sunrise breathwise
a treasure at leisure

the motivation
to get to a space station
the vibration
a shaky motion lost in translation
the  bass guitar string
a cord of a thermal spring

the rhythmical white rabbit
is our innocence!

Friday, March 22, 2013

The Most Famous Star

Might not be the sun
a cube turning round itself
very very fast?

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Nicely

The first one made me cry

Reading the second one
I wondered why
we couldn't see the sun
which made us shine

for our own sake
for love to make

Is it easy to combine?
fuzz... buzz... of Oz...
No because!

but it's good that I've begun
If I'll give it some time
hmm, a couple of words which rhyme
well, I might come up with a pun!

Then we'll have a nice glass of wine!

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Being Published in Print


Today as every Sunday I was changing the beds and had an idea to clean the windows too and while I was standing up on a chair looking down at a bed I could see at that very moment prints of two bodies like a parallel body track on the Shroud in Turin in my very Room.
 It wasn't a copy though. It was an original. I could see our back prints from ancient times quite clearly.
Then there was playing Toccata and Fugue in D Minor by Bach on youtube.
Our hearts play fugues. Each their unique one! No matter there are many lost highways playing blues.
There's your lip print on my soul and there's mine on yours.
They'll never be published.