write poetry

A sound in the hallway.
Wait with bated breath.
The footsteps does not stop at my door.
Maybe next time.

It can’t be nothing.
Yet it is.
The fire laid, unlit.

The impact raises dust
It billows, engulfs.
Red, hot, it
Scratches at the eyes
Claws at the throat
Blocks vision
Immobilizes
...
The lone traveller lifts
his head
to the clearing sky, gets to
his feet
shakes the red layer from
his hair,
his clothes
and turns to the road again.

The collision, when it came, was soundless.
Yet everything weak and wavering splintered.
There was no dust.
Only the quiet tinkling of the last few shards falling
Disturbed the silence.

I had an idea for a poem in my head while walking along the street; I didn’t write anything down, and now it’s lost.

Mortars bursting
Lightning striking
Fenders crumbling
Earth rumbling
Planes crashing
Lightning flashing
Waves smashing
Bombs blasting
Life changing:
Lips touching

Crrr-click through the turning stile
Tap-tap on the changeroom tile
Bang-click shut the locker door
Bounce-bounce to the workout floor
Whir-whir goes the spinner wheel
(Whir-whir till your senses reel)
Ting-ting lift the heavy weight
Full-pull, keep your backbone straight
Ooh-aah, do the streching bit
Ouch-ow, now you’re getting fit
Swish-splash in the shower stall
Swing-bang out the entrance hall
Sing-sing, feeling full of vim
Bye-bye, ‘till tomorrow, gym

It grows in grass and field and bower
The cheerful yellow flower
The daffodil.

The daffodil
Comes after snow
At end of winter’s drear
And spread its yellow cheer.

The blooms of summer coming
Is still a far-off thought
When springs
The daffodil

The daffodil
Is seldom single
Its happiness most strong
When growing in a throng.

My life grows full and intertwined
When all around I find
Friendship like
The daffodil’s.

I fashioned a vessel
made it watertight
found a stand
and gave it a handle.

I took it to the fountain
to fill it up
with fresh water
that would quench thirst.

But before I could fill it
I was rudely jolted
my vessel fell
and was broken to pieces.

I took all the pieces home
I remember the shape
I will try
to put it together again.

My vessel might look the same
as it did before
I can not
be sure that it will not leak.

Es ist Unsinn
sagt die Vernunft
Es ist was es ist
sagt die Liebe

Es ist Unglück
sagt die Berechnung
Es ist nichts als Schmerz
sagt die Angst
Es ist aussichtslos
sagt die Einsicht
Es ist was es ist
sagt die Liebe

Es ist lächerlich
sagt der Stolz
Es ist leichtsinnig
sagt die Vorsicht
Es ist unmöglich
sagt die Erfahrung
Es ist was es ist
sagt die Liebe

No, it is not mine. It is Erich Fried. It is so simple, yet I don’t think I could write anything one hundreth as good.