Vruchtwater

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   Laten we lief zijn voor elkaar
want waarheid is soms ver te
zoeken, laten we zijn zoals water
voor elkaar, laten we water
zijn, samendruppelen en stromen
in de bedding van de zee,
laten we vloeiend vloeibaar
zijn , laten we alle  tranen
smelten, laten we stollen in
kristallen en schitteren als
sterren waarvan het uitgedoofde
licht ons nog bereiken moet,
laten we  snel vluchten voor
het zonnelicht of we verdwijnen,
laat dan de nacht zich langzaam
over ons ontvouwen, zoals het
wassend water zandkorrels 
verovert, één na één, en als we
dan dit laten lossen, zullen we
dan lief zijn voor elkaar, zoals
het water waarin we geboren werden.

Sword

When at my door your final bell will ring
I shall remember those who opened, let
you in and begged for one last song to sing,
who thought a mercy prayer would convince
to have a pardon granted by this prince

When at my door your final bell will ring
I shall remember those who weren’t in
but uninvited, still got lifted by your wing,
who while preparing for a glorious flight
were grounded brutally, take off denied

When at my door your final bell will ring
I shall remember those who welcomed
you as royalists their banished king
who after years of fruitless fight
eventually got their heart’s delight

When at my door your final bell will ring
I shall remember all, praise the Almighty,
challenge your sword with mine then swing
so that my blade will testify that it is I
who at the doors riposted to your passing by

painting: Ferdinand Vercnocke, ‘Mars’, Oil on canvas, 100x80cm
top img = wooden handmade sword, present to my 2nd son by his friend

Lighthouse

 

A lighthouse be,
mirror the beauty
of that inward eye,
echo the silence and
become the sea, turn,
return, a beacon be,
reflect the answer,
come with me,
to any ship then
you will be as is
to time eternity

img © Friedrich A. Löhmuller

Oceanic

(France, Biarritz,  Sunset @ Rocher De La Vierge & Vieux-Boucau-les-Bains, Atlantic Ocean beach, February 25th, 2009, a magic moment in front of my lens)

Sometimes we hesitate between tomorrow and today,
the burden of yesterday upon our shoulders as an ocean
wave, too heavy for a ride. Sometimes we hesitate upon
that selfsame wave, we hesitate, we linger, we listen to
the wind perhaps there is a message there before we
drown in thoughts about these waves that on and on roar
through our heads as a forgotten love, long, long forgotten
but present, each second coming, coming and again:
you see Here face in front of you, with every hand She
lays upon the beach a deadly kiss, but still this wind is
irresistible, is loud and clear and yet again we hesitate,
shall we then sing with Her this ancient melody, written
in a thousand pebbles on the shore? Sometimes we hesitate
between tomorrow and today, the burden of a yesterday
upon our shoulders as an ocean wave, but once the die is cast
we fly, O we sing, we dance and glide, no cold can hold us
back, this beach is ours and we meet our Love, we roll and
turn, become the Wave, Her arms around us, gently rocking,
Her voice a lullaby we recognize from first we entered, O
yes, and here She is, for us only for us, and up and down
we go, we roll and rock, we shout exhilarated, we enter in
Her curve, She is inviting us again, again, Her wave a womb
to live our lives so fast and faster still until the winter carries
us above the water, we have wings and eagle like we leave
the cave, invited by the Sun as if we were a newborn Star,
O yes, we shine, we shine with our new Light years and
years ahead, beyond all hesitation found our Love, finally
Home, finally homeward bound and yes, this beach is ours
this ocean now our Home, and that is all we have and all
we need, there is no hesitation in this moment because this is
indeed All we have, O, All we will have, All we will have eternally.

(written February 25th, 2009, on the beach during a rain shower on the Vieux-Boucau-les-Bains beach near Biarritz, sitting on a dune, watching some surfers on the waves. I had told them I would write a poem for them while watching. After their surfing, the poem was finished and I read it to them. A magic moment!)

 

Vieux-Boucau-les-Bains beach, February 25th, 2009

Hier

Waar ben je nu?
Waait wind wolken weg
ontplooit er zich een dieper
weten: vanuit een blauwe
diepte spreek je, zoals je
nooit gesproken hebt, en ik
luister, je woorden dragen
verder dan mijn lippen ooit
vermochten, en zo fluister
je mijn naam, je schrijft
in letters die alle wind
weerstaan: je blijft
bestaan