A fairy tale

Once upon a time, two years ago, I moved into a small cottage on a forest estate – a former holiday park. It was quiet, it was peaceful and it got me far enough away from things I was facing to start seeing them for what they are. I’m still working on that, but a year ago last week, I found a fairy that helped me further on the way to achieving that. A fairy with special magic, that radiates from a pair of sparkling green eyes. Last week, almost exactly a year after we met for the first time, she came to what should be the home of a fairy like her, the forest where I live.

That was a wonderful experience, full of surprise. Who would have thought that fairies know tricks to light a fire more efficiently, without using magic? And who would have thought fairies would feel so at home in a house of men, a completely different species?

We did a fire dance, around the barbecue, throwing in small twigs occasionally to get the fire going, and once the embers were glowing as hot as they could, we roasted meat and vegetables. We feasted together, and drank the wine of the elves. We went out to meet other people, traveling around the cities that surround the forest, and we enjoyed the food and wines at a nearby festival. Most of all, however, we enjoyed each others company, and that wonderful thing called love…

Tonight, I drink to many more encounters like this and to the fairy that lighted up the darkest time of my life. Here’s to years to come!

 

Under Nike’s wings

She said yes,
the glass of the pyramid shone brighter,
just like her eyes, and the Winged Victory smiled
benevolent from her faceless body,
wings spread and ready to fly.
The lock shines under a moonless garden,
its key buried in their hearts.

 

And the poet in her heart stepped into the light
No longer hidden, the question answered
To be forever, and never not to be

St. Patrick’s Day Eyes

On March 17

In a country bright green

Where music is sacred

And always has been

The party commences

The fiddlers stand tall

Guitars matching voices

Their sound thrills the air

I’ve never been there

But I hear what it’s like

When I close my eyes

And imagine I’m there

People are drinking

The weather is nice

And I hold your hand

My girl with St. Patrick’s Day eyes

 

Onward, forward

At times the past gets in your way

Rolling out it’s evil play

Tears and anger

Things that can’t be changed

Don’t go looking for escapes

‘Cause all to do is just remember

In the end, the only way

Is onward, forward…

Memories of August

The waters of life may be shallow

Or as the wide green sea, so deep

As I tried to swim in both, the difference

I know. It makes me want to keep

The things found in the ocean,

Hidden, brought to light

The water salt. But sweet

The memories of August

deep-green-sea

 

Achala

When life is full of darkness and the sun is hard to find

the stars become invisible, your dreams pitch black at night.

Buried in this darkness, with tears that cloud your eyes,

it’s hard to see a future and the ones who reach their hand.

Yet even without seeing, can the helping hands be felt,

the spirits make you suffer, but always with a cause.

From darkness stretch your arms, and you will find support,

a heart to help you find the bright blue sky again.

Let the slayer of illusions kill your nightmares

And the angel be your dawn…

achala

You

All the things you say

Reach straight into my heart

I feel you deep inside

All through day and night

Never will I now forget

Not till the end of time

All that you mean to meforever

Inspiration #1: A haiku

Your apples bright green
two-peaches
Pink your autumn peaches;
Take me through winter

My anger came out

I tried to follow the news last week, online mainly. I hadn’t done that for real in over a year, and I stopped quickly. It didn’t work, I got angry and restless like before. Partly because of bad timing, with the Orlando shootings being in the headlines, partly by the way people think and react on these things. So, I’m off the news again – apart from an occasional quick headline scan to make sure I don’t become ignorant of the world.

The lines below were written largely out of anger, and not everybody will like them, but I will keep them here – just for the record.

Someone’s child has died
Someone’s friend, someone’s sister,
someone’s kin
Forty nine of them in total, lifes cut short
and dreams demolished

One mans stands in front now
Raise his chin, raise his voice,
raise his fist
“I had this all predicted, I know all,
and I will lead you”

Are you happy, Agent Orange,
Now that so many more have died
To prove your point, moot to begin with,
just to let your ego thrive?

I cry for those who died, despise
the one who killed
But more than that I pity
Eyes closed for what goes on

Black-Ribbon

Long Distance Butterflies

They met on the forum in the middle of the square,
She told him her passions, brushed her hand through her hair
He smiled and replied, they had something to share
They really could tell there were butterflies there

A taste in music, a taste in art
They were searching together,
They talked and they shared, hardly ever apart
And neither had ever felt better

Always around was that magical feeling
The feeling of wings, a tickle inside
That feeling of dreaming with eyes open wide
A belly full of life butterflies

butterfliesThey’re days passed like rapids, the nights oh so short
Enjoying each other through many a night
While half of the world had long gone to bed
They’d be connected, online on the net

One time, way down in the depth of the night
They played a game not to be taken light
The truth was an answer, not important as such
The dare was a meeting, they both wanted so much

A taste in music, a taste in art
They were searching together,
They talked and they shared, hardly ever apart
And neither had ever felt better

Always around was that magical feeling
The feeling of wings, a tickle inside
That feeling of dreaming with eyes open wide
A belly full of live butterflies

And so their meeting on the square
Became the outcome of the dare –
Their talk right there, it was the start
Of a race through music and for art

For weeks upon, they roamed the town
In art and music they would drown
They sought and found, had little sleep
Joy was all they sought to reap

And then one day they figured out
By going on, nothing would sprout
Both at home, they longed to be
End this blaze of mad insanity

A taste in music, a taste in art
For months they were together,
Talking and sharing, hardly ever apart
And neither had ever felt better

Always around was that magical feeling
The feeling of wings, a tickle inside
That feeling of dreaming with eyes open wide
A belly full of life butterflies

She’s back at her house now, and out on the deck
She talks to her dog, and her hand strokes its back
She feels really happy, while she’s looking back
Butterfly belly, goosebumps in her neck

A taste in music, a taste in art
For months they were together,
Talking and sharing, hardly ever apart
And neither had ever felt better

All that is left now,  the fluttering feeling
The feeling of wings, a tickle inside
She can almost feel him as she silently lies
With her long distance butterflies