A collection of some of the poems I´ve written over the years
Across this expanse out of my window I stare
To the fleeting clouds who will my message bear
Over the sea and Sahara sands, to the fields of Eden
Past snow-topped mountains and misty seasons
Across this expanse out of my window I glare
To the vivid blues and greens that remind me of you
I arch my head towards the wind to listen to your whisper
And into it send my own message of love, wrapped in silver
A tribute to the early morning dawn. To the misty colours and plumes that dance with the impending sun. Acta est fabula.
The wintry morning mist
Out from the depths of the still night
Damp, wispy, a haze in a maze of sight
The minute is ablaze with a hushed sincerity
Lurking, wittily-so, in subtle notoriety
The equation lies delicately posed
Implicitly poised, a tribute to the night before in an ode
Wispy, damp A maze in a haze of light
Lies the night, profound and spellbinding to the sight
Out from the crispy plumes of the bygone plight
Uncertain, senescent. Pearl shaded in a sea of damp grey
The stillness is uneasy, disturbed and perturbed by the amber ray
The juncture in ascendancy, A staccato chatter through the melting ice
Cling is all the plumes can, unfurled, unbuttoned. Purloined by the warmth
And so wanders the wintry morning mist, riveted from her roots by the wings of fate
A stranger departed, bequeathed.Vanquished and vindicated from the shadow of the night
Dear Paris
I could tell you that you make me feel on top of the world and that life has never been better, yet even so my friend, I would tell you but a fraction of what my thoughts are, convey to your discerning ears a mere shudder of the quake that trembles within me. The spring colours sing softly to my thoughts; the dainty kiss of the departing winter, the gentle thud of spring landing.
You have received me well, as you always do and we have wined, dined, defined and redefined as indeed we always do. I find you in pleasant health, bursting at the seams with energy and sophistication. Yet your sultry and cynical nature doth manifest themselves every now and again, but not for long enough for me to forget the love we share. As grass green and gentle to the scorching southern sun, I need you by day and I love you by night, I dance in the heat of our romance and shudder in your absence.
I am home again amongst the shadows that lay claim to me. They embrace me with plush sincerity, content to see me in their own special way as indeed I am to see them. Invariably, my heart is heavy and aloof, for Paris grand and gorgeous I miss you so. Till the next time we meet mon cherie, a teary adieu to you I bid.
Merci beaucoup Paris, I am yours forever.
C’est sûr que j’en mourrais,Que j’en mourrais d’amour, Mon amour, mon amour…
Bored amongst the brethren beaten, beneath the bequeathed and benign. Time stands still and the ticking tinge and twirl of transcendence ascends to cadence. Condensed, cold, calm and composed like withering white whirlwinds of scarlet snow outside my window wooded and withdrawn from the vissisitudes of the past, the cast, the senescent and the present.
A poem written in the midst of the annual contrast clash between summer and autumn. A time of restlessness and uneasiness within the ether. The warm, succulent rays of the sun shine fretfully and unrepentantly through the perturbed mass of wind and strain, scorching lush green vegetation in a kaleidoscope of the shade red.
It is within this intense purlieus that my questions pertaining to existensialism and meaning gain a purpose. With baited breath I wait…
The decadence of the shapes and shadows around me.
Stark, shrieking shards of wit and disdain, deranged and withdrawn.
The sullen dejections of the wind, the intimacy of causality.
Deranged, delinquent ornaments of time, desperate and forlorn
The cacophony of the chambers and chariots before me
Sharp, sudden silhouettes of truth and lie woven intimately
The implicit imperfections of the elements, the suspense of glee
Devout, resolute instruments of space, withered yet stately
The stillness of the sun and the stars above me
Sage, shackled shadows of the then and now stately and sedate
The somber spirit of the time, the luxury of a more independent me
Dissolute, insoluble infractions of relativity loyal to the shelter of trait.
The train track rolls on infinite
The woes and whims of an entire nation subdued
By the weight of an entire peninsula
Locked away from the billowing shades of darkness that whistle past with every jolt
The wind at bay, my thoughts astray
Spread thinly across the central Iberian underworld like pale ash in the river of Eden
Hopes, dreams, aspirations asphyxiated by the ways of the world and the rumble of rails and coins
These days all they talk about is life as a crisis, a faded shadow of a forgotten form
A formidable giant laid to rest in the swaying, swerving mass beneath the sewers and piping
Next stop, the port of the South, exit unknown, destination vague
The world outside is as dark as the indomitable underworld
Lit by the embers of a few flickering hopes of a few unfaltering souls
This is the light I intend to walk in
The shades of the shadows tamed
Like the gentle waves of a twlight ocean
My fears culled, social hysteria quelled
For tomorrow a new horizon beckons
From golden shores and shimmering sands
Note found on the Madrid underground: ” Greetings Ladies and Gentlemen, I am a poor girl, I’ve got a child. I don’t have a job and I’m begging for help to help put food on the table for my child. Many thanks”
For we have sung and dance and dreamed, higher and further than wispy thoughts could ever have carried us
I long for the a society which doesn’t love in order to hurt itself, of places faraway from the menaces and perils of the time, of sundowns that need no words to describe them and dreams that seem too good to be true. I want to wake up in the dawn’s embrace one morning and look into her eyes and know that every inch of her feels the same way about me as I feel about her. I want to be faraway from this decadence, from the jaded character of the world before me. I want to understand, I want to discern the truth behind the mockery,the savagery, the hatred, the divisions of society. I want to know what the world has done to itself and if we are destined for another place, why are we still here fighting ourselves ? I want to know why the only audience for all these words is a musical instrument and a sheet of paper, why fallen leaves and butterfly wings are the only things that can hear the screams of the world, the pains of the past and the doubts of the present. I long for many things, and many more, but what good is longing when there’s 7 Billion more that long for just the same ?
If you cut me, won’t I bleed
And won’t my blood be red, just like yours
Not black, not brown, not white but red, as blood should be
If you twist my heart will it not crumble
And when it does will my soul not quiver
will it not explode in ten thousand deft shades
If you hurt me will I not cry
And won’t my tears be pure and crystalline
Not black, not brown not white but transparent as tears should be
If you hit me will I not feel pain
And won’t this pain be a colourless pain
Not black, not brown not white but blunt and bare as pain always is
Kortbæk_Travels 