|Location is in Müllerthal. The place is called Schiessentümpel. The river is the Black Ernz. I guess it's not in the Ardennes after all :]|
AscensionIt's the small things anywayAscension by Telestic
that get to you the most.
Somehow they know the
shortest route to your heart,
inching slowly underneath your skin
slowly slowly slowly
until the feeling penetrates
and explodes inside the core.
And in the days culminating
to that singular climax,
unknown to you at the time
(or perhaps simply unwanted)
was equivialent to the way
rain drips from roofs
in the early days of spring
when the snow melts quickly
and the seasons' coolness fades,
what does the next have to offer?
We all remember the days leading up,
to your eventual ascension,
perhaps you walked gracefully
through those pearly gates
cherubs draped over your shoulders
below the clouds
mere mortals mingling
searching for clues
that lead them only
to question more
and more and more.
And how could you
leave us so soon?
This premature departure
still far too fresh a wound
leaves us feeling nothing more
than everlasting remorse...
End of WinterThe way the air hung over our heads,End of Winter by Telestic
its distinctive pungency enveloping everything.
On the stoop, the last of last years snow.
Is your scent trail buried there,
under the layers from months ago?
That floral aromatic reminiscent of coconut
and freshly washed hair?
As time rolls on so too does the memory reel,
seeking to fill the void and distance
between our tattered hearts.
How then will we come to find us
so many months ahead, when you've left
so many things behind?
I'll keep your bedside warm and survive
somehow, the ticking seconds, like 83 long years
without feeling you near...
thoughts on a brigdeRushing of the dirt-black riverthoughts on a brigde by morning-miracle
That drowns the sound of cars
The sun today
After the chilly time
Hear the sea gulls cry
There they wander and screw their eyes
Alone or in the shelter of many
The Swedish out in the warmth dare go
Away brown dead grass
And by snow chained tree
Now the spring has come!
Cat of sun on the castles cold stone
Cry of a child in the mothers safe hand
Bikes are rattling
And buds turn to leafs
Under the blue sky
In eight more hours the scene will change
The sunlit bridge
Turns to imminent passage
Home for the lonely and drunk
RuinsWhat will those future day historians say
About this desolate and unnatural stone
When our world fades
into, "Of ages past "
And deic wrath warps our mortal throne,
divine deluge once more dousing the
Imaginative fires of our centuries alone.
What will those scholars of solemnity say?
When our man-made monuments, meant to stand millennia, lay
Like black, cracked, snapped and broken bones
Tossed by wind,
like so much detritus thrown
Sitting on the waterfront in Amsterdam....|
Current Residence: inside your head
Favourite genre of music: Lately lots of Bluegrass and Trance :]
Favourite photographer: Art Wolfe, Zach Holmes
Favourite style of art: poetry, fiction, digital photography
Operating System: Windows 7
Favourite cartoon character: Donald Duck
Personal Quote: "randomness is the spice of life..."